Tuxedo Junction
by highlandgypsy
Summary: This is an alternate ending to the episode "Last One For Hutch." Sergeant John "Hutch" Hutchinson is burning the candle at both ends to keep VMF 214 in the air when Navy Nursing Corps Lieutenant Victoria Bishop walks into the middle of things on La Cava. Hutch won't deny the attraction but girls like that never give guys like him the time of day.
1. Chapter 1

This is an alternate ending (and a whole lot more) to the episode "Last One For Hutch." The Black Sheep's base on Vella La Cava is the target of hit and run attacks by the Japanese. Planes are damaged, oil supplies are dwindling and Sergeant John "Hutch" Hutchinson is burning the candle at both ends keeping the squadron in the air. Colonel Lard is threatening – again – to take the unit down unless the raiders can be stopped. Now Greg Boyington, the Black Sheep's CO, wants Hutch to come up with a couple of spare planes so he can launch a plan to find the raiders' secret base. Spare planes? As if the ones the boys were flying weren't one set of plugs and points away from the bone yard already. He's working around the clock with barely time to eat and sleep when Navy Nursing Corps Lieutenant Victoria Bishop walks right into the middle of it. Like he needed one more thing on his mind.

Usual disclaimer - I own no rights to any of these characters and any errors or inaccuracies are completely my own fault. Read. Enjoy. Reviews welcome.

 **Prologue**

 _ **Autumn 1939**_

 _ **Grosse Pointe, Mich.**_

" _Darling, you can't be serious. Nursing school? Your diploma from Briarwood Academy is more than enough. Maybe you could do a couple of semesters at Wellesley or Vassar instead. You could study art, you've always loved to draw."_

 _Portia Bishop gestured at the sketchpad open on her daughter's desk. A horse and rider clearing a brush jump on a cross-country course were depicted with skillful attention to detail. The horse's muscles sheened with sweat, the lines of the rider's body were taut with concentration._

 _Eighteen-year-old Victoria "Tori" Bishop sighed inwardly. A couple of semesters studying art? It was clear her mother didn't expect her to actually graduate. Tori loved her mother dearly but recently it had become clear they did not share the same world view. Portia looked mystified by her youngest daughter's insistence on further education._

" _Besides, once you're married you'll have babies to keep you busy. Bishop women don't . . . work." Portia said the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth._

" _Mother!" Tori resorted to the single frustrated word to express her emotions. She wasn't sure what bothered her more – the assumption that since she'd come of age she would submit to being auctioned off like a prize heifer to continue the family lineage or the assumption that the state of marriage would eliminate any desire on her part to serve as anything more than decorative._

 _She didn't know where this social conscience had come from but when Hitler invaded Poland, Tori began taking an active interest in the world beyond the Grosse Pointe Country Club. It had taken hold and there was no going back. Maybe, she told herself, some day she would be content to let the Bishop family name open doors wherever she went but right now, she wanted to do something – learn something, be something – of her own creation. She wanted to be a nurse. The human body fascinated her. The way it worked, the marvelous complexity of muscle and bone and tissue, nerves and blood and organ systems, all working together to create that incredible, fragile thing called life._

 _She watched her mother's immaculately manicured fingers as they stroked the pearls at her throat, a sure sign she was agitated but too well-bred to let it show. Tori had inherited those long, slender fingers, along with the willowy figure, porcelain skin, dark blue eyes and red-blonde hair._

 _She had not inherited the sense of entitlement that came with the country club membership, the closet full of designer fashions or house full of servants. In fact, Tori found the whole scene bothersome. That wasn't living. It was existing in a snow globe where no matter how many times you shook it, the snow always fell in the same perfectly picturesque way. There had to be more to life. There simply had to._

" _I like helping people." She took a deep breath and grasped her mother's hands. "I've enrolled at St. Anne's School of Nursing. It's an accelerated program for girls like me who had exemplary grades in prep school. I start classes next week."_

" _What will people say?" Portia looked horrified. "Working is so . . . . common." Her mother's mouth was drawn into a genteel moue of distaste._

 _Tori ground her teeth. Her mother was a generous, loving woman but she spent entirely too much time worrying about what other people said. Forcing her face into pleasant lines, she smiled._

" _They'll say, 'Oh look, Victoria Bishop is doing something besides throwing parties and spending money.' Besides, I was named after Great-grandmother Bishop, wasn't I?"_

 _The tight line of her mother's lips compressed further. Tori's great-grandmother was indeed her namesake. She was also the family black sheep. At age 18, the original Victoria Bishop became a nurse for the Union Army during the Civil War. Soon after, she became a spy and routinely crossed enemy lines to carry messages regarding troop movement. At age 19, she caught the eye of her future husband, Augustus Bishop, as he lay wounded and near death. Family legend had it she sat with him day and night, tending his wounds until he was out of danger. They married at the end of the war and began the family tree that grew into one of the pillars of the fledgling Detroit auto industry._

" _Your Great-grandmother Bishop lived in different times," Portia said finally. "You certainly don't need to go to nursing school or become a spy. And you don't need to work. We've talked about this. You have certain family duties to uphold. Your sister Olivia –"_

 _Tori clenched her teeth. Her sainted sister Olivia._

 _She loved Livvy, two years her senior, but they were as different as night and day. Olivia went to Vassar for a year before marrying well. Now she lived in Lansing with a husband who worshipped her. They'd just had their first baby. Tori wondered if her own parents had brought the wrong baby home from the hospital when she was born. Some days she didn't think she could possibly be their child._

 _ **Four years later**_

 _ **January 1943**_

" _Dave Aldrich was killed at Guadalcanal," Tori said, lacing her fingers through her fiance's as they sat in his study, enjoying a drink after dinner. Firelight flickered off the room's polished oak paneling. Preston's hands were smooth, with neatly buffed nails, and she was sitting close enough to smell the expensive cologne she'd given him at Christmas._

" _Aldrich. Aldrich?" Preston mused. "Do I know him?"_

" _He was Rose's steady. She's devastated."_

" _Who's Rose?"_

" _Rose Hanson! Honestly, darling, do you listen to anything I tell you? Rose and I work together at the hospital."_

" _Oh. That girl from Taylorville." It was clear Rose or any other resident of the downtrodden Detroit suburb of Taylorville didn't merit a great deal of Preston St. Clair the Third's time. "Don't worry, my dear. Michigan's youngest senator in the state's history isn't going to get drafted to go serve on some hellish jungle island. Your daddy made sure of that after he got me elected." He laughed smugly. "Having the Bishop name behind me brought the voters flocking in. The worst that thing that might happen to me at the statehouse is a paper cut." Preston loosened his tie and squeezed her hand. "Bring me another drink, won't you?"_

 _Tori frowned as she rose from the arm of his chair._

" _It's not all about you, you know," she said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice but irritated at Preston's habit of turning every conversation back to himself. "Doesn't it bother you that boys from your district are dying on those jungle islands? Davey and Rose were going to be married when he came home."_

" _Victoria." Preston's voice was conciliatory and she felt the hair on the back of her neck go up. "Stop worrying. You'll give yourself wrinkles and you know you don't want that. When you're Mrs. Preston St. Clair the Third, you won't need to work at that hospital. You'll have plenty of other things to keep you busy. Leave the war to the men."_

 _She bent to hand him a Scotch and soda and he kissed her forehead. "By the way, Mother is going to need help with the charity gala and another thing, did the cleaner return my navy blue suit? The double breasted one? I need it for the hearing tomorrow."_

 _Tori erupted in an uncharacteristic fit of temper._

" _How should I know where your suit is! And how can you think about charity galas when boys like Davey are dying every day and you're just sitting here on your backside worrying about what to wear? Heaven knows if Father hadn't backed your election, you'd be reporting to the draft board instead of a corner office in the capital."_

 _He looked at her, amusement etched on his placid, handsome features._

" _I'm not any happier than you are about this unpleasantness. God knows we can't even get decent wine out of France any more. But there's nothing you can do about it."_

 _Tori fixed him with a glacial stare. Why had she ever thought he was attractive? He was handsome but in a perfectly two-dimensional way. It had taken her a year to figure it out but Preston St. Clair the Third was about as deep as two fingers of Scotch. Why in God's name had she ever said she'd marry him? And she must have been drunk to let him touch her in the bedroom._

" _As a matter of fact, there is something I can do about it," she snapped. "I guess someone around here has to stand up and be counted."_

 _Preston realized uneasily his future wife looked rather dangerous when she was angry. Once they were married and the babies came, he hoped she would settle down. He started to rise from his chair._

" _No, don't get up, I'll see myself out." Her tone did not encourage argument._

 _She stormed out of the room and Preston realized – belatedly - if there was one thing he'd learned in the last year, it was if anyone told Victoria Bishop she couldn't do something, she'd do it twice and take pictures._

 _The very next day, Tori joined the Navy Nursing Corps._

 _The day after that, she returned Preston's engagement ring. Bluntly. And without tears._

 _ **XXX**_

 _Tori liked the Nursing Corps. She liked the orderliness of it. She liked the marching, the discipline, the routine. She liked the sense of service with purpose. Although it took some getting used to, she even liked the uniforms. The other girls told her with her figure, she could make a burlap sack look good._

 _When her training was completed, she liked her quiet posting at the Bethesda Naval Hospital in Washington, D.C. It was sometimes quiet to the point of boredom but she had no intention of ever being posted overseas. You had to volunteer to go to Europe or the South Pacific and she was perfectly content to serve her enlistment in the States._

 _What she liked most was the anonymity. She was Junior Lieutenant Victoria Bishop from Michigan and not the daughter of the Edward Bishops from Grosse Pointe._

 _She liked that a lot._

 **Chapter 1: A Girl Like That  
**

 **Summer 1943**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

 _The raids came without warning. They were fast, brutal and timed to allow no retaliation. The first one came while the Black Sheep were out on patrol. They returned to find bomb craters in their landing strip and the mess tent a charred ruin. A week later, the second raid caught them flat-footed with every plane on the flight line. When the smoke cleared, they had two planes, one generator and 200 gallons of engine oil less than they'd started with that morning. On Espritos Marcos, Colonel Thomas Lard stomped and fumed and yelled. Major Greg Boyington yelled back. And on Vella La Cava, the mechanics scrambled to pick up the pieces._

 **XXX**

With the perversity of inanimate objects, the beer can flew off the tip of the metal shears, ricocheted back and forth between the low rafters of the mechanics' shed and after spraying its stale contents in an arc across the work bench, crashed to the ground. USMC Sergeant John "Hutch" Hutchinson swore under his breath as he bent to retrieve it. Thanks to that can and about four dozen more like it, this part of the base smelled worse than the Sheep Pen on the morning after one of the boys' blow-out parties.

He looked at the crate of empty cans he'd retrieved from that very building an hour ago and shook his head at the irony. The Black Sheep's unquenchable thirst in turn supplied the material he needed to repair the damage they sustained during the missions that created the need for alcohol-fueled escapes in the first place. It was one of the many catch-22's he'd learned not to think about out here.

Yeah, the Black Sheep drank a lot. It came with the territory. If he did what they did every day, he'd drink, too. Hell, his job kept his feet anchored securely on terra firma and he still joined them to let off steam now and then. It didn't matter that he was enlisted and they were officers. No one stood on ceremony out here. They knew the only thing between them and engine failure in the heat of a dogfight was his skill on the ground. Forget rank. It all evened out. The Black Sheep flew and fought and drank. Hutch repaired and rebuilt and drank when he had time.

When he had time. Those were the key words.

The crate of empties at his elbow was as close as he'd gotten to last night's bash. He'd worked under lights on the flight line until nearly dawn, hearing shouts and music drifting from the revelers in the base's social club. When the boys lifted off for a mission at 0700 – some of them in dubious shape - he'd showered and hit the rack. Now they were back on the ground and he was doing what he did best – putting VMF 214's fleet of battered Corsairs back in top shape. Or as close as it ever got around here.

He shook the rest of the beer out of the can and with a few deft cuts, opened it up to remove the top and bottom. He folded the rectangle of metal in half and ran it through the small press atop the workbench. He removed the compact, dual-layered patch, grinned at the Golden Ale logo, and tossed it into a bin with a dozen others. He wondered if the Japanese pilots ever got close enough to the Corsairs to see they were patched with beer cans. He was pretty sure Major Greg "Pappy" Boyington and his boys made it a point to not let that happen.

Hutched picked up another can and started the process again. The work was well suited to a sleepy tropical afternoon. The Black Sheep had been on a hot streak lately, putting holes in enemy planes without giving them many chances to return the favor. That was a good thing because the two recent air raids on the 214's base had torn up enough stuff without adding more to it.

Everyone was thinking about the raiders – where they were coming from, when they'd hit again – and everyone was a little edgy. Much more of this and the Japanese would destroy something that couldn't be fixed, then Colonel Lard would make good on his threats to disband the unit. Of course, he'd been threatening that since Greg put the Black Sheep together and it hadn't happened yet. It was enough to make anyone drink, no matter their job. In the meantime, Hutch kept doing what he did every day. Repaired. Rebuilt. Recycled.

Snip. Flatten. Fold. Press. Toss. The rhythm was hypnotic. He could have done it in his sleep. Come to think of it, he _had_ done it in his sleep. He was good with his hands, always had been. He liked fixing things and had an instinct for diagnosing malfunctions in anything from a Chevy block to a Pratt and Whitney R-2800 Double Wasp engine. On top of it all, he had an uncanny ability to make something out of nothing. He was in the right place for that, he thought, tossing another completed patch into the crate.

Nearby, a group of pilots was playing football. Their shouts carried through the afternoon air, typical squadron high jinks from boys who played as hard on the ground as they fought upstairs.

"Go deep, Anderson!"

"Hey, bet that's what Ellen said last night, wasn't it?"

"Shut up, Jerry. That's no way to talk about a lady."

"You gonna throw that ball or talk it to death?"

Scuffling, grunting, a resounding thud.

Either the game had resumed or Bob Anderson was punching Jerry Bragg. Wouldn't be the first time. Hutch shook his head. Snip. Flatten. Fold. Press. Toss. Wouldn't be the last, either.

Jerry picked a new target and started in again.

"Hey Frenchie, you and Carol have a good time on the beach last night?"

"None of your business, Bragg. How'd you know we were down there?"

"He was one dune over, enjoying the attentions of the luscious nurse Jeannie, right Bragg? Or was she just killing time with you while she tries to get Gutterman back?"

"Shut up, Boyle! You're just jealous – you ain't got laid since that little blonde threw you over for Wiley a month ago."

"I keep telling you, son, size matters. Women don't go for short stuff." Hutch recognized Jim Gutterman's Texas drawl.

Boyle was undaunted.

"You ain't gettin' any either, not with your girl stationed on another island, unless you figure on stepping out with Jeannie between times."

"I may be crazy but I ain't stupid." Jim had a steady girl but she was stationed with the Army in another part of the theatre. For the first time in his life, he found himself in a relationship with a girl who meant enough he wouldn't two-time her in spite of nurse Jeannie's obvious attractions. And willingness to share them.

Hutch chuckled. The Black Sheep were legend when it came to chasing skirts. A few of them had steady girls. Most of them played the field. It was easy come, easy go out here. A lot of easy come, easy go. A Marine fighter base in a front area wasn't the place for long term romance. Around here, a steady relationship was often little more than a matter of availability and convenience.

The solid thwack of a football being caught and subsequent grunts of crashing bodies indicated the game had resumed.

The sound took Hutch's thoughts back to his childhood. Playing football with his buddies in the back yard in the autumn twilight. His ma, calling him to supper. His two little sisters setting the kitchen table in his parents' big old American foursquare in Flint, Mich., where his dad worked as a line foreman at the General Motors plant. Summer trips to his grandparents' farm on the Upper Peninsula. They never had a lot but they had enough. A blue collar family in a neighborhood of blue collar families.

Hutch worked on the Cadillac assembly line for a year and a half after high school. It was satisfying work and he took pride in it but he was building cars he couldn't afford to buy and he didn't see himself doing that his whole life. He worked nights and weekends rebuilding auto engines with a buddy and doing auto-body repair jobs on the side. There wasn't much he couldn't fix. "Let Frank Hutchinson's boy take a look at that," his neighbors said to one another when they had car trouble. "He'll have you back on the road in no time."

Hutch and his dad talked about buying a little neighborhood garage and going into business together, Frank Hutchinson and Son, Repairs and Towing. They sat up nights around the kitchen table, pushing a pencil, doing calculations to take to the bank for a loan.

But that was in the summer of 1941. Before the world went mad overnight on the 7th of December.

His best friend from high school, Carl Stanerson, a big blonde kid with an offbeat sense of humor and the strength of an ox, enlisted in the Navy the same week Hutch started building Cadillacs. He'd been aboard the _Arizona_ , moored on battleship row in Pearl Harbor. He was still there. Hutch went to the memorial service at St. John's Lutheran Church in Flint, watched as Reinhardt Stanerson wrapped his arm around his wife's trembling shoulders as she took the folded flag, tears streaming silently down her face.

He volunteered for the Marine Corps the next day. It was just as well. The auto assembly plants shut down in February of 1942. All the steel from the American foundries went to support Allied forces as the war machine chewed across Europe and the South Pacific. Now Frank Hutchinson oversaw the building of marine diesel engines in Flint while his son repaired 2,000 horsepower hogs in the Solomons. Dreams of the neighborhood garage seemed like something from another life.

Maybe someday, when the madness was over and he went home, he and his dad could sit around the kitchen table again, sketching out plans while his mom and sisters cleared away the supper dishes. Hutch sent most of his pay packet home, to save for the day when he'd be there, too. What else would he do with it out here? He played poker occasionally but he was an average talent and with the likes of Greg Boyington and Jim Gutterman ruling the table, he might as well throw his cash straight into the latrine and be done with it.

He didn't have much time for playing poker or chasing skirts or anything else, anyway. Keeping the 214's aircraft in whatever passed for working order consumed most of his waking hours. What he'd learned from instructors in the well-supplied, clean, orderly hangers at Marine Corps Air Station Kaneohe Bay, Oahu, was a damn sight different from the reality of keeping the unit's battered birds in the air on this volcanic island just miles from enemy lines. There weren't any clean, orderly hangers. There weren't any hangers at all. And you could just forget about anything resembling a steady supply line. They never knew where the next shipment of parts was coming from. The Corsairs could and did take a beating and still make it home but it came at a price. Some days he felt like he was robbing Peter to pay Paul and he took it personally when one of the birds didn't make it back to the base.

Hutch wiped sweat off his forehead. It was time for a break. Tossing the last patch into the bin, he shifted a sheet of plywood over the top and hefted a cinder block on top of it. The base had been plagued lately by a pack of the little monkeys that inhabited the inland jungle. A few of the bolder ones had started darting into the mechanics' shed, grabbing whatever suited their fancy and making off with it. They particularly liked anything shiny.

"Hey, Sarge!" he yelled, pulling off his gloves. "I'll be back in 10."

When there was no reply, Hutch stuck his head around the corner of the shed. Line chief Sergeant Andy Micklin was sprawled in one of the battered jeep seats that passed for chairs, hat over his face, feet propped on an empty ammo crate, sound asleep in the shade.

Hutch shook his head. He wouldn't need to hurry back. Micklin's siestas were famous. He'd sleep through the heat of the day, then wake up and start barking orders that kept the mechanics working long into the night.

He crossed the airstrip toward the football game. It was on hiatus as one of the players was sprawled on the ground, clutching his head.

"Hey, Hutch!" Bob Anderson called in greeting. "Good timing, we need another player. We're one short to start with cuz Wiley's at the hospital getting stitched up and Greg and Casey went to Espritos to see Lard." He looked at the form on the ground. "And I think Gutterman just broke Boyle."

"Naw, I'm okay." Bobby Boyle climbed back to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. "Geez, Jim, next time just tap me on the arm."

Jim chuckled.

"Next time, get out of my way."

"You in?" Anderson persisted.

Hutch looked over his shoulder. The flight line dozed in the afternoon heat. There wasn't any reason to rush back.

"Whose team am I on?"

The boys shuffled awkwardly.

"You'll be with Bragg and Boyle against me, Gutterman and Anderson," said Don French.

Hutch did some quick calculations and crossed his arms.

"Uh-huh," he said drily. "Pilots who came back with kills this morning versus pilots who came back with lead in their tails?"

"If you put it that way," Jerry Bragg grumbled.

"I oughta make you guys pull the lead out of your own birds," Hutch said. "Then maybe you'd be a little more careful with my aircraft." He grinned as he said it. He knew the pilots would help maintain their planes only under extreme duress. Their skill with the big fighters evaporated the second they climbed out of the cockpit.

"Come on, Hutch," Boyle wheedled. "Jerry and I need somebody tall on our side. Those two Amazons – " he gestured at Jim and Bob, "- are pounding us."

"I keep telling ya, Bobby boy, size matters," Jim teased.

Hutch looked at Gutterman and Anderson, two of the unit's tallest members. He didn't think adding his own 6-foot frame to Bragg and Boyle's much shorter side was likely to change the outcome of the game but it would be a welcome break from the never-ending maintenance chores that awaited him on the line.

"All right." He took off his cap, stripped his sleeveless T-shirt over his head and tossed both under a tree. "What did Greg go to Espritos for?"

"Lard's pissed about those raiders," Jim said. "Wants to know why we can't get rid of 'em. Says he's worried about the hospital getting hit but I think he's more worried they'll break through and take out the beach cabanas on Espritos again."

Hutch grimaced. The battle between Greg and Colonel Lard was epic.

"Lard would complain if his ice cream was cold," he said. "What's the score?"

"On Espritos? I'd guess Pappy, 10, Lard, 0," French said.

"In this game? Too much to not enough," Boyle muttered. "And loser buys at the Sheep Pen tonight, just so you know what's at stake."

Hutch groaned inwardly. Only on Vella La Cava could a friendly game of pick-up football end up costing a guy a small fortune. Oh well, what else was he going to do with his money out here?

"Then let's get this game going, I've only got until Micklin wakes up and starts yelling," he said.

"Gimme the ball," Boyle ordered. He dropped into the quarterback's position as the other boys fanned out across the dirt. "Bragg, you block. Hutch, you take off and go like hell. You're the only one with a chance of outrunning Anderson."

In spite of Boyle's offensive plan, the score was 38 to 12 in the other team's favor when the drone of an engine heralded the arrival of the mid-week transport.

 **XXX**

The promotion was a payoff and U.S. Navy Nursing Corps Lieutenant Tori Bishop knew it.

Her commander at Bethesda Naval Hospital knew it. Admiral Grier - that drunken bastard - knew it. And General Thomas Moore, who'd finessed the whole thing to keep what was left of Tori's reputation intact, knew it.

It had worked.

It bought her reluctant silence and let Admiral Grier retire without a blemish on a spectacular military record. The promotion and the subsequent transfer ensured Tori kept her mouth shut and got her out of the States without even a hint of scandal touching her family. How the admiral explained the gash on his temple was anybody's guess. In hindsight, Tori thought she was probably lucky she hadn't killed him. That would have been an even bigger scandal.

She didn't care. Her carefully orchestrated stateside nursing career had self-destructed that night but not a breath of impropriety tarnished her family name. That was all that counted in the end, wasn't it?

She'd stood with her back ramrod straight and her eyes forward as the bars were pinned to her collar and accepted her new assignment like the whole thing had been her idea _._

Now she stood at the edge of the dirt airstrip on Vella La Cava and thought if she would have just married Preston St. Clair the Third like she was supposed to, she could have avoided this whole mess in the first place. She shaded her eyes with her hand and surveyed the cluster of shabby tents and buildings that comprised the base. If she'd deliberately set out to find the armpit of the war in the Southwest Pacific, she couldn't have done a better job.

It was absolutely perfect in that respect. Victoria Bishop might as well have dropped off the face of the earth. By the time anyone saw her again – providing she lived through this – someone in her parents' social circle would have committed something even more scandalous than what had happened to her. Not that anyone back home knew about it. It was behind her and she needed to let it go. That's why she was out here – to get a fresh start.

The base looked dirty and rough and disreputable, definitely not the Grosse Pointe Country Club. The hot breeze carried the scent of aviation fuel and mud. Her mother would have started giving orders for things to be cleaned two minutes after she got off the plane. Tori smiled at the thought of Portia Bishop setting foot in a place like this. If she smiled, she couldn't cry at the same time.

Tori and the other new arrivals gazed around awkwardly. They'd been assured someone from the hospital would meet them but the only personnel within shouting distance were half a dozen men throwing a football around. They seemed more interested in showing off than being useful.

"Do you think they forgot about us?" Doreen McGillicuddy smoothed her blonde curls and looked around apprehensively.

"No," Tori said with a confidence she didn't feel. "They have a hard time keeping nurses out here. We volunteered, remember? They aren't going to forget about us."

 _Volunteered. In a manner of speaking._

No matter the reason for coming here, she'd still expected someone to meet them. The C-47 had landed, the girls had deplaned, their luggage had been tossed onto the dirt and the pilot had spun back down the airstrip without a backward glance. Tori had been in the military long enough not to expect a red carpet welcome but she hadn't expected to be abandoned in quite this manner, either. Her orders were to report for duty at the Navy hospital on Vella La Cava but the hospital was nowhere in sight, just this ramshackle outpost of a base edging the airstrip that was its heart and soul.

Tents and planes and all the detritus that accompanied them.

And men.

She'd read the newspaper stories about the Black Sheep of VMF 214, the Marine Corps fighter squadron stationed on the same island as her new hospital assignment. The unit was getting extensive print coverage, thanks to an Associated Press correspondent stationed right there on the base. Tori followed K.C. Cameron's writing avidly while she was posted in the States. Cameron's stories about the Black Sheep's exploits in the air were fantastic and the nurses she talked to on Espritos during orientation had filled her in regarding the Black Sheep's behavior on the ground. Between the two, she knew enough to know her parents wouldn't approve of VMF 214 much beyond the generally accepted patriotic fervor. Tori thought it would be exciting to be posted on the same island as the legend-in-the-making squadron but in trying to evade one scandal, she may have landed herself right in the middle of another one.

It was too late to worry about that now.

The breeze tugged a copper-gold curl from under her cap. Tori shoved it behind her ear. In hindsight, having her wavy red-blonde mane cropped short before leaving the States may have been a little hasty but she'd been making a statement. Of course, by then her parents couldn't have been much more dismayed at the direction her life had taken. And they only knew the half of it.

Either way, Tori didn't think she was going to have to worry about seeing her name in the society pages again any time soon. That was fine with her. It would be nice to make a fresh start where she could be judged on her merits alone. She would practically guarantee no one on this rock would recognize the Bishop name. It followed her like a shadow back home but here, she was just another nurse in a khaki uniform.

A white bull terrier stood up from where it had been sprawled in the shade, apparently watching the football game, then stretched and trotted jauntily toward the girls. Tori watched the dog with interest. Of all the things she'd left behind, she thought she missed her sable and white Shetland sheepdog, Tapestry, the most.

"Look out!"

The urgency of the tone snapped her to attention and she spun toward the sound, reaching up reflexively as an object hurtled through the air toward her. The worn leather stung her hands as she caught the football a second before it smacked into her head. She stood, blinking at the suddenness of it. If she got hurt out here, she hadn't expected it to be a football-induced concussion on her first day.

"Boyle, you idiot! I was open!" a boy called. Jogging in her direction he added, "Sorry about that, ma'am, but nice catch! You want a spot on our team? You've got more talent than either of these yahoos and you're a damn sight nicer to look at."

Tori swallowed a smile. Everything the nurses on Espritos said about the Black Sheep was true. She'd been on the base less than five minutes and they were already turning on the charm.

Her admirer was tall and lean, shirtless, with faded fatigues riding low on his waist. His cheeks were covered with more than one day's stubble and his dark hair was longer than military protocol dictated but he was attractive in a rough sort of way. He smiled, white teeth flashing, and raised his arms in an invitation to return the ball. Tori felt her worries fade, at least for the moment. It was impossible to be on the receiving end of a smile like that and not return it. The base might be lacking in aesthetic value but its occupants weren't.

"Here you go!" She drew her arm back and sent a pass spiraling toward him. Years of tennis and golf lessons, not to mention the interminable ballroom dance lessons, plus the riding lessons and years with the hunt club, had given her well-established upper body strength and coordination. The ball sliced through the air toward its intended target, who caught it with a surprised "Ooof!" The other men hooted.

"What's the matter, Hutch? A girl giving you more than you can handle? You're out of practice, son!"

"Hey, Lieutenant, catch!" The boy tossed the ball back to her. She was ready this time and caught it neatly. Now what was she supposed to do?

"Throw it to French, same way you threw it to me, let's see how he likes it," he instructed, then added helpfully, "He's the one who looks like his razor broke."

Tori's eyes darted over the assembled men. Nearly all of them fit that description. Front area standards were clearly more relaxed than the starch and polish of the Navy base on Espritos. She had no trouble picking out French, a stout pilot with several days' growth of beard. He was laughing and holding his hands out in front of his face in pretend fear. She gripped the ball and was preparing to launch when a jeep drove between the women and the men.

"Damn it you guys, could you at least let them get settled in before you start hitting on them?"

A girl with dark hair and a look of resigned patience on her face pulled the vehicle to a stop. She wore an olive drab jumpsuit with medical insignia pinned to the collar. The boys welcomed her cheerfully but with a complete lack of anything resembling acknowledgement of rank. A tall boy with light brown hair and a freshly bandaged hand got out of the jeep's passenger side. He joined the group of men clustered under the shade of several scrubby palm trees. The football game had been abandoned, probably because she was still holding the ball, Tori thought.

"Aw, come on, Dee, we were just funnin'." A dark-haired boy with a self-assured smile jammed a battered cowboy hat on his head. "I think Hutch just recruited a ringer for our next scrimmage against ya'll at the hospital." He jerked his head at Tori who felt a moment's self-consciousness. Her hopes of fitting in here without drawing attention were quickly fading.

The girl stepped out of the jeep and brandished a clipboard.

"Out of my way, Gutterman, I don't have time for your crap today. I'm already late because your wingman showed up at the hospital and needed his hand stitched back together after another one of you gentlemen hit him with a beer bottle."

"It was an accident," another pilot muttered.

"That's not the point, Bragg – next time you boys have an _accident_ , Greg's going to hear about it. You're lucky those stitches won't keep TJ off the flight roster. I'd advise you to work out your differences before he gets back. I don't need any more business from this base today."

Bragg looked mildly uncomfortable, apparently aware of his lapse of good sense, and Tori processed the exchange. Greg. That would be Major Greg Boyington, the squadron's CO. He was infamous for a leadership style that relied on fists to dispense the limited amount of discipline that could be found out here. She hadn't read that in the newspapers but it had been the topic of conversation at a neighboring table at the officer's club the previous evening. Tori wasn't above a little judicious eavesdropping.

The girl approached their huddle with a smile. She had a petite build but Tori noticed the boys backed off and gave her space in spite of their earlier bluster.

"Welcome to Vella La Cava, ladies. I'm Lieutenant Dee Ryan. Lieutenant Commander Delmonte sent me to pick you up. You'll report to her at the hospital for bunk assignments and shift rosters. And," she turned to glare at the boys, although Tori could see the corners of her mouth twitch, "a lecture regarding standards of conduct since we're expected to share the island with this bunch of renegades." She looked at Tori, who was still holding the football. "I see you've already met them."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't ma'am me," Lieutenant Ryan said dismissively. "Call me Dee, unless Delmonte is around. But you may want to give them their ball back or believe me, they'll come looking for it. Probably in the middle of the night."

Tori flexed her fingers and re-gripped the ball. Singling out French, she fired a hard pass straight at his chest. He caught it, eyes widening in surprise, and toppled over backwards.

Dee's eyebrows rose appreciatively.

"You're going to fit in here just fine," she said.

Tori doubted that but it didn't really matter.

 **XXX**

Hutch leaned against the trunk of a palm and watched the girls as they clustered around Dee. The nurses made it bearable out here. He didn't have a steady girl but a guy would have to be dead not to appreciate them anyway. Their presence was a tonic. The curve of hip and breast, shapely legs in silk stockings and soft feminine laughter went a long way to lightening the 24/7 stress of living in a front area. If they were amenable to a little snuggling in the shadows, all the better. If that snuggling progressed to additional ways of expressing affection in a secluded spot of beach, better yet.

He'd seen first-hand how their soft sweetness was a veneer over steel resolve. They handled blood and trauma with the same unflappable skill they handled TJ's endless pick-up lines. It was good to know when the Black Sheep came back nearly as battered as their birds, the nurses knew their business.

He was content to enjoy the scenery. That would probably be as close as he got. Once they got acclimated, the nurses tended to be a randy bunch – as bad as any of the pilots – and generally willing to accommodate the boys in a variety of ways. But they always went for the pilots. The Black Sheep had that flyboy mystique the girls found irresistible while the mechanics and other ground crew watched from the sidelines and occasionally picked up the leftovers.

That didn't stop Hutch from flirting as much as any of the guys in the unit but it was usually for naught. Well. Not always. There'd been a few memorable occasions when he'd thoroughly enjoyed after hours company with the fairer sex, although when he thought about them, the degree of alcohol-clouded judgment and morning-after regret tended to negate whatever pleasure the encounters might have held. More than once he'd been relieved to sit in morning mess, letting coffee dissipate the fog of the night before, listening to the other boys' morning after stories and feeling grateful the girl he'd tumbled on the beach was unlikely to pursue any kind of lasting relationship.

It didn't work out. It never worked out. He hadn't met a girl yet who thought mechanics were as romantic as pilots. He reckoned it didn't matter. He'd left a girl back in the States when he signed up - Meredith Cocciola, dark haired and curvy, the daughter of Enrico and Elena Cocciola who ran the corner deli in his old neighborhood. She was still there but she hadn't exactly waited for him. Now she was Mrs. Meredith Hanover. Apparently she'd given marriage a lot more thought than he had. He always figured he'd get married some day and Meredith was exactly the kind of girl his parents would expect him to marry simply because she was exactly the kind of girl he appreciated – someone as down to earth and hard working as he was.

"Nice crop of new fillies," TJ said, cradling his bandaged hand. "Anything catch your eye, Hutch?"

"Hell, TJ, he ain't got time for the ladies," Jim interrupted. "He's too busy putting your bird back together."

TJ was undeterred.

"How about that tall strawberry blonde? She looks like a class act. Nice legs, lots of curves in all the right places." He nudged Hutch with his elbow. "Mmmm?"

Hutch pulled a wry face.

"Girls who look like that don't look twice at guys like me," he said pragmatically. "Gutterman's right, you'll snatch up all the good ones while I'm out there on the line, working like a slave to keep your butts in the air."

TJ rubbed his hands together as he watched Dee talking to the new girls.

"Gentlemen, this is what I call a target rich environment." He turned to Hutch. "Come to the Sheep Pen tonight – you know new nurses mean a party. A little social life wouldn't hurt you."

"You got enough social life for both of us. The girls will be all over you now anyway," Hutch said without malice, indicating TJ's bandaged hand. "The only thing they like better than a pilot is a wounded pilot. I could get half blown to pieces and they'd just slap a bandage on me and set me in the corner but let one of you boys get a scratch and they can't leave you alone."

He studied the girls as they talked to Dee. The strawberry blonde who'd caught the football was indeed a classy piece of work with sleek legs and sweet curves. She carried herself with poise that had finishing school and trust fund written all over it. He watched her as the girls sorted themselves into the jeep. Sculpted cheekbones. Full lower lip, curving now in a generous smile at something Dee said. Wavy red-blonde hair cut in a short bob that was rakishly out of line with the rest of her image. She wore the khaki uniform with an elegance that made it look like something off Fifth Avenue. Yeah. Girls like that never looked twice at guys like him. Girls with finishing school poise and trust funds didn't join the Nursing Corps, either. He wondered how in the world she'd ended up out here.

"Told you she was worth a second look." TJ's said in his ear and Hutched startled.

"Doesn't cost anything to look," he said. "See you boys later."

He headed back toward the flight line to log a couple more hours of work. He could hear the sound of approaching Corsairs and looked up, squinting as Greg and Casey lowered toward the strip. Their aircraft had come back in better shape than anyone else's after the morning's mission but that wasn't saying much. Even as they taxied to a halt, Hutch could hear the out of sync cylinder on Greg's plane and thought Casey's was trailing excessive exhaust. He'd take a look at those after he replaced the points in TJ's bird. Again. And checked the rudder cables Jim had been complaining about.

The maintenance chores were never-ending but if he got even close to catching up, he might stop by the Sheep Pen for a drink later. Just to be social. Not because Little Miss Finishing School would be there. And if she was, he was pretty sure she wouldn't give him the time of day. Girls like that never did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Parties past and present**

 **Vella La Cava Navy Hospital**

The introduction to Lieutenant Commander Delmonte was everything Dee had predicted during the three-mile trip from the airstrip at the Marine base to the hospital at the opposite end of the island. Tori and the other girls stood at parade rest while Delmonte lectured them on expectations of behavior.

From her position against the door frame, Dee caught Tori's eye and grinned. Tori bit the inside of her lip to keep from grinning in return when the petite nurse mimicked the commander's expressions perfectly behind her back.

Delmonte wrapped up with a few carefully chosen words on conduct becoming officers as it related to the men of VMF 214. Tori thought if she wanted her admonitions to be effective, she should have been waiting when they got off the transport instead of letting their first welcome to La Cava come from the very men she was warning them about. Given that half of the boys hadn't been wearing shirts, it was the kind of welcome that tended to stick in a girl's mind whether she wanted it to or not.

As far as the Black Sheep went, Tori had no intention of keeping up with whatever constituted the social whirl on this rock. She was here to help injured men heal and to help her country. Maybe to find a little peace for herself along the way, in a place where the only expectations for her behavior were printed in the Navy Nursing Corps Code of Conduct.

She wouldn't be out here long enough for it to matter, she thought firmly. Before she left the States, they told her nurses were rotated in and out of this front area base in six-week cycles. Even if the male residents of the island had a reputation that wouldn't quit, surely she could keep them at arm's length for six weeks.

She wasn't naïve. She knew exactly what kind of behavior Delmonte was talking about. After all, she and Preston had been engaged to be married. When he'd talked her into giving up her virginity, she hadn't seen any particular reason to wait.

Maybe she _had_ been naïve. Or maybe she'd just expected too much. The act had been a bit disappointing and she wasn't convinced her inexperience was totally at fault. Either way, she'd expected more than her ex-fiance had delivered and once the novelty wore off, she realized creativity and spontaneity were not Preston's strong suits. In spite of her curiosity and willingness to experiment, he approached making love the same way he approached everything else – as a business transaction to be completed in the most efficient manner, with the most benefit to him and least amount of effort possible on his part. That was all well and good for him, Tori had thought a little sourly.

Once he had been elected to the state senate, their mediocre lovemaking had been reduced to virtual nonexistence. They barely had a minute alone together. Even when she went to his house for dinner and drinks in the evening, his aids and secretaries were constantly demanding his attention, not to mention the endless stream of constituents and political wannabees currying favor that marched through his living room.

She'd spent a lot of time smiling and excusing herself while he rolled up his shirtsleeves after dinner and dove back into the demands of his office. His priorities had been clear and she was pretty sure she wasn't even in the top 10. Little wonder his response to being handed back his engagement ring had been one of irritation rather than devastation. Now he had to find a new candidate for a wife. He'd probably assigned the project to one of his aides, she thought.

"Dismissed. Lieutenant Ryan will show you to your quarters." Delmonte's lecture ended and Tori jerked herself back to the present as the girls exited the office in a shuffle of heels and luggage.

"Lieutenant Bishop? May I have a word?"

Tori stopped short. The stout commander was studying her as if she were a particularly interesting species of bug. Tori returned the favor, wondering how in the world the woman got that victory roll in her hair to stay in place in this humidity. The commander opened a file folder on her desk, looked at it briefly as if to confirm a suspicion, then closed it.

"The other girls will be bunking in the common dormitory but due to your circumstances, you're to be issued a private room," Delmonte said. Tori blinked and quit thinking about hair.

"My circumstances, ma'am?"

"Yes." Delmonte brandished the file. "I see you've volunteered to stay on indefinitely beyond the standard six-week rotation."

Tori barely stopped herself from blurting, "I did _what_?"

"Yes, ma'am," she managed.

"You'll be quartered in the south wing with the other long-term personnel. Follow Lieutenant Ryan. Dismissed."

Stunned, Tori grabbed her gear and hustled out of the commander's office.

She was staying here indefinitely? Dear God, what else had she volunteered for she didn't know about?

 **XXX**

"There's a party to welcome the new girls tonight at the Sheep Pen," Dee said after giving Tori a tour of the hospital and showing her to her room. "Be ready to go at 1900 and you can ride over with me."

Tori hesitated. Going to a party was the last thing she wanted to do but she felt obligated to attend. She didn't want to come across like a loner on her first day here or worse, a snob. How she hated the feeling of obligation.

"All right." She forced a smile, hoping her reluctance didn't show. "See you then."

 **XXX**

 _ **7 days earlier**_

 _ **Washington, D.C.**_

 _She'd been invited to another party. Civilian evening dress, champagne in crystal flutes and the crème' de la crème of Washington society. Short of bleeding from the eyeballs, there'd been no way Tori could excuse herself from attending. The gilded chains that bound her to her family name hadn't loosened just because she'd enlisted._

 _She desperately tried to play down the Bishop connection, not wanting preferential treatment, but even her tame posting as a staff nurse at the Bethesda Naval Hospital left her wondering if her parents had found some way to meddle in her affairs after all. It wasn't like she ever intended to serve in a war zone but when she'd joined the Nursing Corps, she'd hoped her work might be a little more exciting than endless shifts of mundane patient care in the quiet halls at Bethesda._

 _Now, holding the engraved invitation – black ink on ivory stock – she knew it had nothing to do with her unprepossessing rank as a junior lieutenant and everything to do with her last name. It hadn't taken the Washington elite long to find her. It was common knowledge Edward and Portia Bishop's daughter had thrown over her fiancé, the youngest state senator in Michigan's history, to join the Nursing Corps. This made her a delicious combination of patriotism with just a hint of scandal._

 _As a result, the social invitations flooded in with alarming frequency. Tori politely refused as many as she could. Her duties at the hospital left her seeking peace and quiet after her shift and she found she didn't miss the social scene. She much preferred evenings spent with a book or her sketch pad. In addition to healing the human body, she enjoyed re-creating it on paper, her slim fingers capturing the aesthetics of outward appearance as well as the essence of underlying bone and muscle._

 _Some of the invitations, though, she wasn't able to write off with a graceful but regretful RSVP that her duties would not allow her to attend. This was one of them. Her commanding officer raised her eyebrows when Tori requested a half-day's leave to attend Virginia Senator Richard and Julia Covington's 50_ _th_ _wedding anniversary reception but it wasn't like she could refuse. Not even the U.S. Navy refused the Covingtons._

 _ **XXX**_

 _The sprawling Alexandria, Va., estate bustled with men in uniforms and tuxedos and women in sparkling evening dress. Tori smoothed the skirt of her blue Chanel gown as she mingled with the other guests. Her mother, in typical Portia fashion, had mailed the dress to her when Tori wrote to say she'd been invited to the reception. She was representing the family, after all. Edward and Portia couldn't attend. Edward was busy overseeing Ford Motor Company's new plant near Ypsilanti, Mich. Earlier in the year, the plant started utilizing Henry Ford's assembly line process to turn out the new B-24 Liberator bombers, fueling the American war machine. Edward stayed on to troubleshoot the process, dividing his time between Grosse Pointe and Ypsilanti. Portia was currently staying with Tori's sister Olivia, awaiting the birth of her third grandchild who was due at any moment. The Bishops and the Covingtons went way back and Tori was expected to carry the torch this evening._

 _Richard Covington was an old family friend who considered himself her godfather. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and insisted on squiring her around, presenting her to his guests with a flourish. Her face was starting to felt frozen in a "so nice to meet you" smile._

" _Victoria, this is Admiral Marshall Grier, an old friend of mine," Richard said, halting in front of a tall, thickly built man in Navy dress uniform. He had a chest full of medals and the florid countenance of someone no stranger to alcohol. He reminded Tori of a bird of prey._

" _Ahhhh." Admiral Grier took her hand in both of his. "Our Navy nurses get more attractive by the day. My dear, you are the very picture of loveliness." Even though it was early in the evening, his speech was starting to slur._

 _Tori accepted the compliment gracefully although she would prefer to be recognized for her medical skill, not her looks. She shifted uncomfortably, the gown suddenly feeling too snug and too revealing. The admiral held her hand longer than social niceties dictated and she had to refrain from wiping it on her skirt when he finally released her._

" _So nice to meet you, sir," she said and with relief, let her host steer her to the next person she simply must meet. After an endless string of introductions, Richard released her to mingle among the Washington elite enjoying the evening's hospitality. Champagne flowed, crystal sparkled and the war was on everyone's lips._

 _A Marine Corps squadron called the Black Sheep based in the Solomon Islands were becoming the terrors of the South Pacific. They were flying a new type of fighters called Corsairs, which had proven unsuitable for the Navy's use as carrier-based squadrons but were proving their worth to the land-based Marines. Tori sipped champagne and listened with interest. She'd been following stories about the Black Sheep in the Washington Post by an Associated Press reporter named K.C. Cameron. Cameron was living right on the base with the fighter squadron. Tori imagined that must be beyond exciting._

 _The topic changed from the Black Sheep to the inconveniences of rationing and she excused herself from the group. Smiling her thanks, she took a champagne flute from a waiter bearing a tray and wandered aimlessly through the throng, making small talk and admiring the home's objet d'art._

 _After an hour, the tedium was about to bore her to tears and her feet hurt in the high-heeled shoes. It was the same old, same old – all the women trying to wear more expensive gowns and jewelry than their neighbors and the men sizing up each other's material possessions as if they represented more private physical attributes._

 _The never ending one-ups-manship annoyed her. She'd joined the Navy to get away from this exact thing. Several times, she noticed Admiral Grier maneuvering himself to be close to her and finding an excuse to touch her shoulder or her arm. The man made her uneasy. She set her glass down, her appetite for the evening's frivolities gone. She'd thank the host and hostess for the invitation, use the restroom and call for a car to take her back to the base. She should be spending the evening preparing to go in front of the promotion board. Her most recent evaluation had come back with stellar marks and she wanted to be prepared when they called her. She didn't want to be a junior lieutenant forever and she especially wanted any promotion she received to be based on merit, not her last name._

 _It took Tori a couple of minutes and several wrong turns to find a bathroom among the labyrinth of the old house. She finished her business, washed her hands and left the room only to realize she was completely disoriented. She tried to backtrack, biting her lip in frustration when she encountered yet another unfamiliar corridor. She tipped her head, concentrating, but couldn't hear the sounds of the party. She rounded a corner and came face to face with Admiral Grier._

" _Is everything all right, miss?" He took her arm. "You look lost."_

" _I'm fine," she assured him. "This is a huge house. Is the front entry that way?" She started in the direction from which he'd come. He didn't let go of her elbow but turned her around._

" _Let's go this way." He steered her further down the corridor._

" _But I think –"_

" _No, no, I know a short cut."_

" _Really, sir, you don't need to escort me, I can find my way. I'm sure you have - what -?"_

 _Still holding her arm, Grier slid his other hand down to stroke her hip._

" _You wear that gown exceptionally well. I'll bet you'd look spectacular out of it."_

" _Sir! You are out of line!"_

 _Indignantly, she jerked free and tried to slip around him but he blocked her escape and gripped her arm again, his fingers tight enough to elicit a cry of pain._

" _Come with me." He was drunk, she could tell, but his voice rang with command. It was an order but she wasn't having any of it._

" _Let go of me," she snapped, her voice icy, and tried again to slip around him._

 _He didn't let go. His fingers closed like a vice on her arm as he opened a door behind her and pushed her into a small, richly appointed parlor. Grier kicked the door shut, both hands gripping her arms now. Furious at being manhandled, Tori struggled, stumbling in the unaccustomed high heels as he shoved her roughly against the wall and pinned her with his body._

" _Stop it! You've had too much to drink!" Fear started to trickle through her._

" _Be a good girl," he murmured, grasping her hips and pulling her against him. "It'll be our secret."_

 _He leaned in to kiss her._

" _No!" She jerked her head away. "Please, no."_

 _Tori could smell the alcohol fumes wafting off him and worse, could feel the thick heat of his arousal pressing against her. She redoubled her efforts to break free but in spite of his intoxication, he out-muscled her easily. He might be drunk but he wasn't impaired._

" _Relax, you'll enjoy it. You young girls always do."_

 _Tori was pretty sure she wouldn't. She shoved ineffectively at his bulk._

" _Please, sir, I'm not that kind of girl."_

 _The admiral laughed, groping at the hem of her skirt._

" _You will be."_

 _She tried driving a knee into his groin but he had her pinned so tightly against the wall her attempt was little more than a pathetic nudge. His hand was on her breast now, squeezing so hard she cried out._

 _She wrenched away and he jerked her back, then slapped her hard enough to send her head rocking against the room's walnut paneling. Pain and fury exploded through her in equal proportion even as she went limp, her head spinning._

" _You want it rough? I can play that way." His tone was harsh. "Don't tell me you don't want this. You've been acting the tease all night."_

 _Grier's hand was under her dress now and she twisted to escape his groping fingers as fear licked the edges of her mind. Struggling frantically, she tried to pull away but one hand was between her legs again, the other tugging down the shoulder strap of her gown. She dipped a toe into panic, jerked back with anger. This couldn't be happening. This absolutely would not happen. She gathered every ounce of her strength, grabbed his ears and yanked._

" _Stop it!"_

 _The admiral let out a grunt of pain and stepped back. Tori bolted. Fabric ripped. She felt cool air on bare skin when he didn't let go of her dress and the shoulder strap parted company with the rest of her gown, spilling one of her breasts out of the bodice. It was the final humiliation. She filled her lungs and let out an ear-piercing scream._

 _The sound echoed as she stumbled across the room, looking frantically for another way out. Finding none, she put an ornate end table between herself and the admiral and screamed again with everything she had. Holding up her torn dress with one hand, she looked around frantically for a weapon. Her eyes lit on an antique silver fox head stirrup cup sitting on the mantelpiece. It looked suitable to inflict a fair amount of damage. It was within inches of her grasp but she'd have to step from behind the dubious protection of the table to grab it._

 _Tori feinted left, drawing the admiral's attention, then dodged right and grabbed the cup. The solid silver fox head gave it a pleasantly lethal feel. Grier lumbered toward her, moving with unexpected speed._

 _Several things happened at once. Grier lunged. He grabbed her around the waist and shoved her down onto the settee, one knee forcing her legs apart. She thrashed and he slapped her again. The back of her head connected with the mahogany armrest and her ears rang. She heard the clink of metal and realized he had unbuckled his belt and was unzipping his trousers. Tori felt one of her garters break loose as he pawed under her skirt. Seething with fury, she brought the silver piece crashing down on his head with every ounce of strength she had._

" _Get off me, you asshole!" she screamed._

 _Grier crumpled and fell onto the floor. The door flew open._

 _A powerfully built man with dark, intense eyes and a barrel chest strode into the room._

" _What in God's name is going on in here? I heard someone screaming - " His eyes fell on her and he immediately looked away. "My apologies." Tori realized not only was she was spilling out of the top of her gown, her splayed legs and rucked up skirt left a lot of bare skin on display._

 _From the floor, the admiral groaned. Tori sat up, the stirrup cup still clenched in her hand. She thought about hitting him again but was afraid if she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. A wave of nausea rolled over her and she fought down the urge to vomit._

 _The man crossed the room, taking off his jacket and handing it to her._

" _Here, miss, put this on."_

 _He glared at the admiral, who had blood trickling from a gash on his temple. Through the fury pounding through her, Tori thought she heard him mutter something to the effect of, "Finally got what you deserved."_

 _Tori slid the jacket on over her ruined dress and tugged it closed, grateful. She noticed the insignia was Marine Corps, with a general's star. She looked up. The man helped Admiral Grier to his feet, then shoved him unceremoniously into a nearby chair. He turned to her._

" _Thank you," she said, unable to manage any more words.  
_

 _He held out his hand._

" _General Thomas Moore, at your service."_

" _Victoria Bishop, Navy Nursing Corps." She was pleased to hear her voice was firm in spite of the waves of anger and nausea coursing through her. She saw a jolt of recognition at her last name. His mouth compressed into a thin line._

" _Miss Bishop," he acknowledged, releasing her hand. "I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances. Let's get you out of here. We can go out the back way and I'll have a driver take you home." His voice turned to a snarl. "Then I'll deal with him."_

 _Tori hesitated, clutching the jacket lapels closed._

" _General . . . Moore? But aren't you involved with operations in the Solomons?"_

 _The man blinked in surprise._

" _Yes." He studied her questioningly. "I'm back in the States for a week of conferences with the War Department. How did you -?"_

" _I remember your name from the newspaper stories about the Black Sheep. K.C. Cameron's stories." For a minute, she thought the general rolled his eyes at the correspondent's name. She paused, suddenly self-conscious in her ruined dress and tattered stockings, the seriousness of the situation falling around her. "I guess that's not really important now."_

 _The admiral, who was sprawled in a wingback chair, regained consciousness. His eyes focused briefly on Tori._

" _Nice piece of ass," he slurred. "You ever see a girl with such gorgeous – "_

" _Shut up, Grier, just shut up. Do you know who this is? It's Edward Bishop's daughter. You've really done it this time."_

 _Stepping to Tori's side, Moore gently took her elbow. She flinched and jerked away. He dropped his hand._

" _After you." He motioned through the doorway. As if moving in a nightmare, Tori walked down an empty corridor and through a servant's entrance. Outside, the autumn air was cool on her flushed face. Her head ached. Her skin throbbed with bruises. All she wanted was to get back to the safe anonymity of her quarters. Moore waved to an attendant loitering nearby and within minutes, a car's headlights cut through the light mist. He opened the door and helped her into the back seat._

" _The driver will take you back to Bethesda. That's where you're quartered, right?"_

 _She nodded in silent affirmation._

" _Your coat – " she started but he held up his hand._

" _Keep it for now. It'll find its way back to me." Moore started to shut the door, then paused. "Miss Bishop . . ." His countenance was grim. "I'm sorry but it's probably best you don't tell anyone what happened tonight."_

" _But he tried to – " Tori started to protest. She could feel bruises blooming on her skin like filthy fingerprints._

" _I know. I know." Moore sounded resigned. "Honey, it will be your word against his. He's a decorated war hero on track to retire with honors and a full pension. If you file charges, he'll find a way to make it sound like you enticed him. He'll drag you and your family across the front page of every newspaper from here to Detroit and back. Is that a chance you want to take?"_

 _Tori felt her life starting to spiral out of control._

" _No."_

 _Moore rubbed a hand across his face._

" _He'll take a bad situation and make it worse. You won't have any reputation left by the time he's done." His voice trailed off and his dark eyes held the unspoken implication. It would be her fault. No matter the truth, it would play out as all her fault._

 _Tori bit her lip. Her mother would be devastated. Her father would have to endure the knowing smirks and nudges in the boardroom. And what was left of her reputation would be in tatters._

" _All right." Her voice was small. "What do you want me to do?"_

" _I'll handle it. Grier has had people flying cover for him for way too long but he's within a month of retirement and nothing is going to change now." Tori could see the wheels turning behind those dark eyes. When Moore spoke again, he was resigned. "Don't expect any real justice but I can keep this out of the news for your family's sake. I'll need your cooperation. Do you trust me?"_

" _Yes." Tori wondered what fate that single word had sealed._

" _Then I'll take it from here."_

 _The door swung shut and the car pulled smoothly away into the darkness._

 _ **XXX**_

 _The following morning, Tori stood in her CO's office, face rigid while her first lieutenant's bars were pinned to her collar. Commander Whitworth shook her hand. Tori noticed the older woman wouldn't meet her eyes. She handed her a sheet of paper and dismissed her. In the hallway, with the smell of disinfectant in her nostrils and the sound of orderlies' chatter ringing in her ears, Tori read the new orders assigning her to a front area hospital in the Solomon Islands. The same island where the Black Sheep were stationed._

 **XXX**

 _Four hours later, she stood on the train platform, biting the inside of her lip to keep the tears at bay. Around her, people jostled, pushing luggage trolleys and shouting._

 _Six weeks. It was only for six weeks, just long enough to get her out of the country and ensure she kept her mouth shut until Grier's retirement was official. Then she could come back to a different Stateside base. Her orders hadn't come right out and said that but everyone knew nurses didn't serve long term in front areas unless they volunteered. She'd done more volunteering in the last 24 hours than she planned on._

 _She'd called her mother to tell her she'd been promoted. She tried not to choke on the word. Thankfully Portia had been so focused on the pending birth of another grandchild, as well as so distraught about her daughter being whisked away by the Navy, she didn't ask about the Covington's anniversary party. Tori had crammed the ruined Chanel gown into a trash receptacle on the base. She never wanted to see it again._

" _We're proud of you, sweetheart," Portia said. Tori could hear the emotion through the phone line. "We love you so much. Don't forget to write. Take care of yourself, darling – and remember, you're a Bishop."_

 _And that was the problem, wasn't it?_

 _The conductor gave the last boarding call. Tori grabbed her satchel and stepped onto the train without looking back. She sank into a compartment by herself and let out a trembling breath as the train pulled out of the station. She'd gotten out of Washington and no one was the wiser._

 _The view outside the window gave way to the open fields of the Virginia countryside as night fell and Tori's exhausted mind struggled to make sense of the last 24 hours. At age 22, she was on her way to the South Pacific, assigned as a nurse in a front area hospital in a hotbed of the war against the Japanese. At her sister's comfortable estate near Lansing, her mother was probably having a lie down. When he heard she'd left the country with virtually no notice, her father would go into his study and have the butler fix him a drink. And her great-grandmother, the first Victoria Bishop, who'd been a nurse and a spy during the Civil War, would have been laughing her head off and raising a glass of whisky in her honor. Tori was sure of it._

 _Well hell. She'd always wondered what it would be like to serve somewhere more exciting than Bethesda, right?_

 **XXX**

 **Nurses' quarters**

 **1900 hours**

"Is that what you're wearing tonight?"

Dee's voice was non-judgmental as she leaned against the open door of Tori's room.

"Is there a problem?" Tori adjusted her tie and smoothed her skirt. She scowled at the cowlick at her temple. It curled in defiance of comb and spray.

"Not a problem, exactly, but trust me, you can let your hair down tonight. It's a party after all - the boys always pull out the stops to welcome new nurses."

"I thought staying in uniform might be safer," Tori said. "Professional boundaries and all that, like the lieutenant commander said."

Dee laughed appreciatively.

"Nice try but it won't make a bit of difference. We generally wear jumpsuits for shift work, civvies when we're off duty." She shrugged. "We're a front area base, things are a lot more relaxed out there. No one expects _professional decorum_ –" she rolled her eyes, "- 24/7. Just don't say that around Delmonte. She's got a stick up her ass about regs."

Dee gestured at Tori's closet. The door hung open, revealing several olive drab jumpsuits neatly aligned on hangers. "I see they didn't even issue whites when you came through Espritos." Dee shrugged again. "Dress khakis, jump suits, civvies – it doesn't matter. Those boys don't care what you're wearing. Their end game is all the same – to get you out of it - so you might as well be comfortable in the meantime."

Tori blinked.

"You're kidding, right?" She realized, belatedly, in spite of her status as a Nursing Corps officer, her only exposure to men in uniform had been limited to those in the Stateside hospital where she'd worked for six months. Most of those men had been wounded, returning from overseas. They'd flirted outrageously but it was hard to take them seriously when she was changing dressings and emptying bedpans.

They'd been polite, asking her to write letters to wives and sweethearts and she'd been a conduit for them to stay connected to loved ones, not an immediate means to an end. She'd never been around front area personnel and always imagined them as being too preoccupied with staying alive to be interested in much else, including women.

"I never kid about the Black Sheep," Dee said. "A few of the boys have steady girls, the rest are always hunting." She held up her hands, palms out. "Do whatever you want. I'm not passing judgment." She looked at her watch. "Either way, you've got time to change if you want to. It never pays to get there early." She winked. "You don't want to look too interested. I swear, they can smell it."

Tori studied her reflection in the mirror. She looked well-groomed, cool and polished. She'd spent her entire life looking well-groomed, cool and polished. Except for the cowlick. She frowned.

"Give me a minute." She rummaged in her closet. Her civilian clothing was limited but she found a pair of navy cotton trousers and a pale pink camp shirt. She stripped out of her uniform and pulled them on. Dropping her garrison cap on her bed, she ruffled her fingers through her hair. The result was pleasing in its simplicity, framing her face with loose waves of red-gold hair. Even the cowlick looked appropriate now. She turned from the mirror to see Dee studying her. The other girl's face was a study in conflict.

"I read your file," Dee said bluntly. "It was open on Delmonte's desk the other day. I know about what happened in the States. Is that why you volunteered to come out here?"

Tori straightened her shoulders. She had no idea what General Moore had put in her file when he finessed the deal that traded her silence for the promotion. Apparently it was a cleverly fabricated mix of truth and untruth.

"Is that what it said?" she said slowly. "That I volunteered?"

"Yeah. Didn't you?"

"For the Nursing Corps, yes. To come out here? No offense, but this place isn't exactly where I would have chosen to spend my enlistment." She laughed ruefully. "I think I was volun- _told_ for this posting."

Dee laughed briefly, then sobered.

"You could have fought it – pressed charges against him . . ."

Tori shook her head.

"Refused the promotion? Drug my family through the wringer with our names connected to a rape scandal on the front page of the evening papers? No thanks. I'd rather come out here."

"Because you're running away?" Dee's voice was quiet.

"Maybe." Tori sighed. "But just once I want to be something other than Edward Bishop's youngest daughter. I figure this is as good of a chance as I'm ever going to get, no matter how I got here."

Dee regarded her appraisingly.

"You're in the right place for that," she said finally. She nodded with a smile at Tori's casual clothes. "That's better, trust me. We don't stand on ceremony out here, especially when it comes to socializing. Everyone's on level ground. Come on, you'll get to meet the boys again and a couple more who weren't around when you got here this afternoon. Just a warning, they love a new girl."

 **XXX**

"Do you have a boy here?"

Tori's curiosity got the better of her as she climbed into the jeep with Dee. From what she'd seen earlier, Dee Ryan seemed completely at home among the Black Sheep and Tori was intrigued by that blend of teasing friendship and respect. She'd never seen anything quite like it before. The social relationships between the nursing staff and the men who shared the island indicated Delmonte's warnings weren't taken to heart. Tori realized, again, she wasn't used to fraternizing with the opposite sex beyond the formalities of her daily duty.

Doreen McGillicuddy, plump and effervescent, climbed into the back with Fran Collins, a quiet brunette. Some of the girls had already left for the party and others said they were coming later.

Dee flashed a smile.

"Yes." She drew out the word, teasing, but didn't offer any more.

"Come on – does he have a name? Rank? Hair and eye color?" On the flight from Espritos, Doreen had shared her enthusiasm for being stationed near the Black Sheep. It was clear she was in intelligence gathering mode.

"Larry Casey, first lieutenant, but no one ever calls him by his first name – it's just Casey. Blonde hair, blue eyes. He's one of Greg – Major Boyington's – executive officers."

"How long have the two of you been together?" Tori grabbed the side of the seat as Dee accelerated.

"Since he threw me in a foxhole five minutes after I landed here, if that's what you mean by 'together.' If you mean, how long have I been sleeping with him, that started a few months later."

Tori's eyes flew open wide. She wasn't used to such a casual acknowledgement of an intimate relationship, especially from someone she'd only known a few hours. This place was a whole new world. _What_ had she gotten herself into?

"Do tell!" Doreen leaned forward, not even trying to hide her interest.

The story took them the rest of the trip to the base. Dee slowed and pulled up next to a ramshackle building with the words "Sheep Pen" and the squadron's insignia painted above the door. Tori looked around. The whole base had an air of heavy use, she thought, like no one here was very concerned with how things looked, only how they worked.

"Remember, they can smell a new girl from a mile away," Dee warned as they walked up the steps. "And if you're not used to hard liquor, take it easy. Scotch flows like water around here and these guys are professional drinkers. Among other things." She paused. "I'm sure all of you have dealt with male personnel before but the boys out here are a different breed." Her eyes sparkled with good humor.

A welcoming cheer greeted the girls as they entered the building. A jukebox was thumping and several couples were dancing to a Duke Ellington number.

"Sit." Dee indicated an empty table. "You won't be alone for long, guaranteed. I'll get the first round."

By the time she returned with four dripping beer bottles, Tori had met Don French, one of the boys from the football game. He told her she'd bruised his chest when she threw the ball to him and asked her to look at it. He even started unbuttoning his shirt. She quickly recovered her wits and met his disarming grin with one of her own.

"If you come to the hospital in the morning, Lieutenant Commander Delmonte will be more than happy to check on your injuries," she said.

"Damn it, Dee, you warned her, didn't you?" Don grumbled good-naturedly, re-buttoning his shirt.

"She's a quick study," Dee said, passing out beers. "Go away."

"I'll be back," Don called over his shoulder.

"He will be, too," Dee muttered. "With reinforcements. Really, they're good boys . . . they just come on so strong."

Tori wasn't much of a beer drinker but sipped slowly as she looked around the room. Dee hadn't been kidding. The atmosphere was informal with men, women, officers and non-commissioned personnel mingling in high spirits. She felt herself relax.

"Who's that?" She inclined her head toward a girl deep in conversation with two men at the bar. "I don't remember meeting her at the hospital."

The girl was about Tori's age but her clothes were an odd blend of civilian and military. She was wearing shorts fashioned from cut-off fatigues and the white man's work shirt was sleeveless and frayed around the arm holes. Short leather boots completed her ensemble. The cut of her clothing was masculine but the girl's curves were clearly feminine. Her sun-streaked hair was braided in a neat plait over one shoulder. Tori thought the girl wore the slightly ragged, mismatched clothing with more style than some women wore Armani.

Her face was alight with good humor as she poked the taller of the two men in the chest with her index finger. From across the bar, Tori lip-read her words, "None of your business." The dark haired boy seemed to find this amusing and resettled his battered cowboy hat with an appreciative laugh. The other man, older and ruggedly handsome, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Their body language spoke volumes.

Dee watched the interplay, a knowing grin on her face.

"That's Kate Cameron," she said. "She's stationed here on the base, covering the 214 for the Associated Press." She added, "She's covering Greg, too, if you couldn't tell."

Tori blinked in confusion.

"Associated Press? But . . . Kate?"

"Katherine Christine. K.C. Cameron. Kate," Dee waved her hand as if this clarified everything.

"The newspaper correspondent? I've read tons of his stuff. But – " Tori stopped. There was no reason K.C. Cameron couldn't be a woman but she'd always assumed he was a man. Really . . . because . . . well . . . she didn't know any female correspondents. Honestly, nothing was what it seemed out here.

"She lives here with the boys but escapes to the hospital when she needs a break from all the testosterone. You'll see her around a lot. Hey! Katie! Come over and meet the new girls!"

At the bar, the girl refilled her whisky glass and excused herself to the men. They followed her progress with open appreciation Tori was struck, again, by the comfortable ease the girls enjoyed amidst the assembled men.

Kate pulled up a chair at the table.

"Hi," she said, saluting with her glass. Her smile was welcoming.

"Katie, this is Doreen, Victoria and Fran." Dee did the introductions. "Ladies, this is Kate Cameron, AP correspondent and honorary Black Sheep. If you ever need advice on keeping these boys in line, she wrote the book."

"I'm still writing it. They keep changing the rules." Kate grinned. "Welcome to the 214, where the only things faster than the planes are the pilots."

"I followed your stories back in the States," Tori said. "You have an amazing talent."

"Thanks." Kate's smile was almost shy. She waved a hand at the men scattered around the room. "They're the ones with the talent. I just tell their stories."

Tori looked around for the boy who'd invited her to play football. She didn't see him and within minutes she was swept away on a wave of introductions. She met Greg Boyington, the force behind the Black Sheep, and his two executive officers, Larry Casey, who was Dee's steady, and Jim Gutterman. Kate told her Jim was involved with her sister, Sarah, an Army dog handler stationed on Rendova. The boys' names ran through her mind – Don, TJ, Bobby, Jerry, another Bobby and a dozen others. None of them were what she'd expected. The men's camaraderie reflected irreverent humor and an obvious admiration for the female form.

"Welcome to La Cava, Lieutenant Bishop," Greg said. "I'm sure one of these yahoos will need your services before long."

"And if not, they'll be offering their services to you," Kate said dryly.

Right on cue, several boys appeared and presented her with drinks.

Welcome to La Cava, indeed, Tori thought, sipping whisky and fielding small talk. She was going to need a program to keep track of the players.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Scotch and Black Sheep  
**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

 **The Sheep Pen, 2100 hours**

Tori's head swam with heat and alcohol and music. Laughing, she pushed away the whisky TJ set in front of her.

"Thank you, really, but I'm at my limit," she protested. "I'm _past_ my limit." Truthfully, she'd passed her limit a couple of drinks ago but it was hard to turn these boys down. Their enthusiastic welcome surpassed anything she'd expected and her reluctance at coming to the party faded as the evening progressed.

"All the better," TJ said with a friendly leer.

"Knock it off, TJ, she's new and you know it," Dee intervened. "She doesn't have any resistance to you boys yet."

"Aw, Dee, come on. She's got to start somewhere," he protested, his boyish grin unrepentant.

"She's not starting with you, Wiley. You're a menace." Dee's laugh belied her stern words. TJ didn't leave.

"It's all right," Tori said. She flattened a hand on the table to steady herself. "I was on Espritos for a few days of orientation before they sent me here. When you're surrounded by sailors you get a lot of practice at saying no."

"Then it's time to say yes," TJ pointed out. Tori was starting to recognize this as Black Sheep logic. "Come dance with me?"

"No." She wasn't sure she could stand up, let alone dance.

"Do you want me to beg?"

"No."

TJ dropped to one knee by Tori's chair and held his hands over his heart.

"I could die tomorrow. Would you deny a brave pilot his last wish?"

"No. Yes! Dee was right – you are a menace. Can I take a rain check?" The room was starting to spin.

TJ sighed and stood.

"Rain check. I'll remember that," he said with a wink and turned back to the bar.

Tori pushed the whisky glass away from her.

"Are you all right?" Dee queried. She was sitting on Casey's lap as both of them took turns recounting a story about an encounter with an unfortunate supply sergeant on Espritos. They had the whole table laughing.

"I'm fine, just going outside for some air." Tori pushed her chair back.

"Want company?" Dee looked concerned.

"No. I'll be all right. You're . . . busy." She indicated Casey's hand on Dee's thigh. In spite of the crowded room, she was surprised at the public displays of affection between couples. Several of the pilots had girls draped over them and their hands were gaining levels of familiarity that made Tori look away self-consciously. She made her way unsteadily through the crowd, aware of admiring glances and more than one appreciative whistle.

Outside, the air was only marginally cooler in spite of it being full dark. Tori paused to get her bearings, then walked with slow determination along the track that ran through the middle of the base. About 10 yards away, some creative soul had fashioned a pair of Adirondack chairs from wooden crates that formerly held grenades, if the print on the chairs' back was to be believed. She steered toward them. She just needed to sit for a minute and gather her wits without anyone pressing drinks on her or asking her to dance. Oh, who was she kidding? She was half lit and needed to sober up.

Even Major Boyington had bought her a drink to welcome her to the island. K.C. Cameron's stories never mentioned those blue eyes or that devastating smile. Of course, K.C. Cameron's stories never mentioned that K.C. was Kate, either. When Tori joined the Nursing Corps, she'd never imagined she'd be serving shoulder to shoulder with the Black Sheep and K.C. Cameron. When she joined the Nursing Corps, she'd never imagined a lot of things.

Her mind was occupied with the merits of the boys she'd just met. Dee hadn't been kidding. They came on hard and fast. They had the hard edge of men who spent their days balanced on the razor's edge between life and death but at the same time, they still had an undeniable boyishness. Some of them were cute and she had no doubt all of them were trouble in only the way pilots can be.

She walked slowly, reviewing names and faces through the whisky buzz. She wasn't sure how she'd fit into the island's social circle, although so far she'd been welcomed with open arms. Literally. The relaxed camaraderie at the party had been a refreshing change from the carefully scripted protocol of the social events she'd grown up with. Maybe she needed to lighten up and rethink the whole social avoidance thing. Next time she just wouldn't drink as much.

Tori was so lost in thought, when the ground dipped suddenly underfoot it caught her completely off guard. Stumbling, she felt what was left of her alcohol-fogged balance desert her. The world tilted wildly and flailing her arms, she pitched headfirst toward a huge mud puddle.

Out of nowhere, an arm snaked around her middle, halting her headlong plunge. She let out an undignified squeak and her rescuer laughed. He set her upright as if she weighed no more than cottonwood fluff and steadied her, both hands firm around her waist as he turned her to face him. Dizzy and embarrassed, she looked up to see the boy who'd invited her to play football that afternoon, the one with the rough, dark good looks who'd started flirting before they'd even been introduced. Come to think of it, they never had been introduced.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" In the dim light she saw his eyes trace her figure but they didn't linger inappropriately. His expression showed good humored concern, as if propping up intoxicated nurses were an everyday occurrence.

Tori swayed slightly. He released her waist and gripped her upper arms. The solid heat of his hands was reassuring but Tori wished he'd just hold onto one part of her and stop moving around. He was standing close enough she could smell the clean scent of soap and noticed his hair was wet.

"I'm fine," she managed. "Thank you. I just don't have a head for alcohol."

"You'll get one if you stay here very long."

"I gathered that. I'm Victoria." It seemed unnecessary to mention last name or rank to someone who'd just kept her from pitching headlong into the mud. She wasn't in uniform and neither was he, although he was wearing a shirt now. More's the pity, a tiny part of her brain noted.

"Nice to meet you, Victoria. I'm Hutch."

"Hutch?"

"John Hutchinson. Nobody's used my first name for so long I almost forgot I had one."

She wasn't sure if he was teasing or not.

"Tori."

"Ma'am?"

"Call me Tori." It sounded odd to say it out loud. She'd been Victoria Bishop for 22 years. Always Victoria Bishop, like her last name was such a part of her identity it could never be severed from her first name. She was rarely just Victoria and never just Tori. Until now.

John let go of her upper arms and extended a hand. She gripped it, as much to steady herself as in greeting. His grasp was warm, his palm rough. He released her hand.

"What brings you out here?" he asked.

Tori wasn't sure if he meant this particular spot on the base or the South Pacific in general. While she struggled to compose an answer, they began walking slowly back toward the party. She stumbled again – for the love of God, she wasn't _that_ drunk, was she? – but caught herself this time. John raised his eyebrows and offered her his arm. She swallowed her pride and took it.

"I must have had more to drink than I thought," she said. "I came out here to clear my head."

"I'm sure they've been feeding you the uncut stuff."

"The what?" She blinked in confusion.

"The Scotch they haven't watered down for trading. They always keep a few bottles back for new girls at the parties."

"I see." She didn't see at all. "What else should I know about you boys?"

John laughed. No longer in danger of falling over her own feet, she studied him more closely. He was wearing a T-shirt and fatigues and was substantially cleaner than the first time she'd seen him although his jaw was still covered with dark stubble. In spite of his earlier commentary about Lieutenant French, apparently his own razor remained broken as well.

They made their way slowly back toward the light and music spilling into the night. Tori was thankful for his arm over the uneven ground. He was tall and solid an anchored against him, she slowly felt the earth quit tilting under her feet.

"We're harmless, really," he said.

She snorted.

"I have it on good authority you are not harmless. All of you in general," she amended hastily. "Not you in particular."

"Ahh. I see Dee's already briefed you." He chuckled. "Then you'll know Greg and Casey won't stray off the reservation, Jim's got something going on with Kate's little sister, Sarah – none of us really know how it works because they hardly ever see each other. Anderson has a thing with Ellen when it's convenient for both of them and the rest of them would happily have a thing with any girl who's willing."

"Don't you pilots have enough on your minds without skirt chasing?" The alcohol had loosened her tongue. She had no business being this bold with a man she'd just met.

He laughed.

"Sweetheart, I'm a mechanic, not a pilot. We all have plenty on our minds but you girls are more fun to think about."

She blinked at the endearment, then turned this declaration over for a minute.

"What about you? Do you have a girl? Or do you just go around rescuing damsels in the dark?" She was conscious of the hard muscle of his forearm under her fingers as they walked.

"I'm not sure I rescued you from anything except a mud bath."

"I still appreciate it."

"Come over some time in the daylight. I'll give you the nickel and dime tour and show you where all the mud holes are."

Tori wasn't sure if this was a genuine invitation or the beginning of a come-on.

"I better go back inside," she said. "Lieutenant Commander Delmonte warned us not to go wandering around in the dark out here."

"I see you didn't listen."

All right, he had her there. Deciding the best defense was a good offense, she flashed a smile and let it go at that. John laid his hand over hers and gave it a quick squeeze.

"Come on, I'll buy you a drink."

"That's what got me in trouble in the first place," she protested.

"You're in training now. We'll have you in shape in no time."

She noticed – again - how nice his smile was. It sparkled with good humor that relaxed the hard line of his jaw and invited her to share a private joke. Then they were at the steps of the building and she had to think about where her feet went so she didn't fall on her face.

When John opened the door and ushered her back into the Sheep Pen, Tori thought she heard the briefest of breaks in the room's cheerful mayhem, like a rippled intake of breath, then it was back to the general din of clinking classes and conversation and music.

"Look who I found outside. I thought you might want her back." John pulled out a chair next to Dee and Tori dropped gratefully into it. She watched as he shouldered his way to the bar, a tall, rangy figure amidst a sea of olive drab and khaki. He looked even nicer now that she could see him properly in the light. He didn't have the gawky, post-adolescent look so many of the boys had, like they were still waiting to get the bodies that would fill out the uniforms they'd been issued. Instead, he had a working man's muscular build, lean and lithe without being coarse.

Dee slid off Casey's lap.

"I need a drink, love," she said and the tow-headed pilot rose and headed toward the bar. She leaned toward Tori and said quietly, "That was fast. But you could definitely do worse."

Tori startled out of her reverie.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're thinking about it."

"I am not! I'm not thinking about anything!"

"Except Hutch's backside. Come on, I recognize that look. You ought to see the way Kate watches Greg's – hey – ouch!" Dee jumped as the correspondent backhanded her friend on the arm.

"Do you blame me?" Kate asked, inclining her head toward the bar where Greg was leaning with his back to them.

"No," Dee and Tori said in unison. Tori felt herself blushing, then relaxed. Commenting on the assets of a guy who belonged to a girl she'd just meet, especially when he was the unit's CO, felt inappropriate but it didn't seem to bother anyone but her. Inappropriate seemed to be the norm here. And besides, looking was safe. She could look to her heart's content. Touching was where the trouble started and she had no intention of going down that road.

John returned with two bottles wet with condensation. He set one down in front of Tori and pulled up a chair next to her.

"Coke?" She looked up, surprised.

"You can have my beer if you'd rather," he offered.

Tori shuddered.

"God, no. I'm going to have a headache in the morning the way it is."

"Another victim of the Black Sheep," Kate said cheerfully. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Tori wondered if she meant she'd get used to being fed drinks by the boys or being hung over. She sipped the Coke. It was cold and sweet and her head started to clear. The evening slowly came back into focus as the last tendrils of whisky fog drifted away.

"So, ma'am, where are you from?" John studied her as he hooked an arm around the back of his chair.

"Stop ma'am-ing me," she said, a little embarrassed by his determined formality. "Michigan."

"Hey, so is Hutch!" TJ reappeared. "You two were probably neighbors and didn't know it."

"Really? What town?" Even as she asked, a tiny alarm bell started going off in her head.

"Flint. You?"

"Grosse Pointe." The bell got louder.

"All right, Tori from Grosse Pointe, do you have a last name?" he persisted.

She shifted uncomfortably. Flint and Grosse Pointe were only 60 miles apart. What were the odds he'd recognize her family name? She swallowed.

"Bishop."

Apparently the odds were pretty high. The recognition in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Bishop? Any relation to Edward Bishop with Ford Motors?"

 _So much for being anonymous._

"He's my father."

'He's overseeing production of the B-24s at that new plant in Ypsilanti, isn't he?"

Tori looked at him in surprise. She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to say but it wasn't that.

Seeing her confusion, he added, "My old man works for GM. We keep track of the competition." He paused. "Although we're not really competing right now. The auto industry has turned into the war industry."

"Yes," she said cautiously, aware everyone at the table was listening. "My father was instrumental in setting up the Willow Run plant to use auto assembly line techniques to produce planes. The first ones came off the line earlier this year."

"And you volunteered to come out here?" His voice was a blend of surprise and respect. Tori had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from saying _I didn't exactly volunteer_. She felt Dee's gaze on her but the other girl said nothing.

"Truth is stranger than fiction," she finally managed.

TJ stepped into the awkward pause, holding out both hands in invitation.

"I'll take that rain check now."

"You'd better dance with him or he won't leave you alone," Dee advised.

"Don't feel obligated. He won't leave you alone anyway," Kate said.

Tori looked at John.

"Thanks for the Coke. And for saving me from myself outside."

"Any time. It's been nice meeting you, Tori from Grosse Pointe. Come back when you're ready for that tour." He winked at her, then looked across the room. Jerry Bragg was glaring at him. "I gotta go pay up for being on the losing end of that football game."

 **XXX**

Hutch watched as Tori took TJ's hand and rose gracefully from her chair. He felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy when the pilot dropped his hand to the small of her back and guided her onto the dance floor. He'd never been much for dancing but at the moment he was giving that attitude a serious review. The girl might be completely above his pay grade but she'd been warm and funny in a way he hadn't expected. Good lord, she was Edward Bishop's daughter. He had no business expecting anything. He excused himself to Dee and Kate, then strolled to the table where Jerry, Don, Jim and a few others were lounging.

"Nice you could finally show up to pay your part of the tab," Jerry grumbled. "French and Gutterman are drinking me into ruin. Anderson already left with Ellen, thank God, or I would have lost an entire week's pay." He held out his hand. "Cough up your share."

"He's got other things on his mind," Jim said with a pointed look across the room where Tori was dancing with TJ. "She's a looker. How come you're letting Wiley cut in on your turf?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Hutch watched as Tori smiled in response to something TJ said. The boy flew nurses a lot better than he flew planes. "That's Victoria _Bishop_." When this drew blank stares from the others, he added, "She's from near Detroit. Her old man is Edward Bishop and he's about as high up the food chain at Ford Motors as you can get without your last name being Ford. That's old money and a lot of it. That kind of girl wouldn't look twice at any of us. Besides, I just ran into her outside, I'm not making any kind of claim."

"Maybe you should. She looked good on your arm coming in." Jim warmed to his role as matchmaker. "When's the last time you got a little action?"

Hutch glared at him.

"That isn't the kind of girl who gives a guy a little action," he said.

"That isn't the kind of girl who just up and joins the Nursing Corps, either," Don said, echoing Hutch's earlier thoughts. "What's a socialite like her doing out here?"

"She seemed nice enough." He took a pull at his beer. "She didn't act like the silver spoon type."

He'd had occasion to deal with the silver spoon type back home – girls with more money than brains whose approach to getting what they wanted alternated between flirting and pouting and flashing daddy's money around. He liked the first impression he got from Victoria Bishop but all too often, girls who looked like that turned out to be a high maintenance pain in the ass. It didn't matter anyway. Regardless of Jim's concern for his love life, he didn't see their paths crossing again any time soon.

"She's too classy for the likes of us," Bobby Boyle observed forlornly. "Whoever scores with her is gonna have to work for it." Then he brightened. "Wanna bet on it? Who's in? I'd lay odds on TJ. He's already working it. I give her two weeks before she breaks."

The boys looked across the room. Tori was looking at TJ's bandaged hand. Her expression hovered between professional interest and amusement.

"Case in point," Hutch said, pointing with the neck of his beer bottle. "Like I said earlier, you flyboys get hurt and the nurses can't keep their hands off you."

Greg joined the table.

"What was on Lard's mind this afternoon?" Jim asked.

"He's wound up tighter than an eight-day clock about those hit and run squadrons Tojo keeps sending," Greg replied. "He thinks they're launching from an island base somewhere near here and he doesn't understand why we haven't made it a top priority to find it."

"He's got a point, Greg. If we don't get rid of them riceballs, they're gonna put us out of business," Jim said.

The boys grumbled in assent. Once the smoke cleared after the last air raid, they'd found Hutch and Micklin nearly incoherent with fury as they surveyed the irreparable damage done to the unit's spare aircraft. It was hard enough to keep 16 planes in flight condition when they had a bullpen with a few extras on standby. Keeping 16 planes flight ready when they only had 16 planes to start with was asking the impossible.

"Yeah. I've got a plan," Greg said, rubbing a hand over his face. "It might take a while to put together and Lard probably won't like it but he doesn't like much of anything else I've done lately, either." He turned to Hutch. "How many birds have we got that are functional?"

"You can put 16 in the air tomorrow," Hutch said. "That's all I can promise."

"What about the one Casey ferried back from Peletau? Number 323?"

"Starboard aileron's still chewed up. Waiting for parts."

"How about 442? The one that came with the replacement pilot who left for Munda last week. He didn't take his bird."

Hutch made a face.

"He went straight to the Sheep Pen after that mission where you boys mixed it up over Kahili and was still drunk two days later. He said he never wanted to get in that bird again. Right now it's about as aerodynamic as a barn door."

"But you can fix it, right?"

"Pappy! I'm a mechanic not a miracle worker."

Greg grinned and clapped Hutch on the shoulder.

"Same thing. Get on it and see what you can do. We've gotta put 16 in the air to keep Lard off my ass but I want two extras airworthy and on standby. We're gonna chase those bastards until we find out where they're launching from. And then we're going to take the party to them for a change."

Hutch had no doubt he meant it.

 **XXX**

Tori lay awake for a long time that night, watching the shadows play on the ceiling of her tiny room in the nurse's quarters. The butler's pantry in her parents' house was bigger but she wasn't about to complain. She had a bed, a desk, a chest of drawers, a tiny closet and a tiny bathroom. The only big thing in the room was the window that opened toward the ocean. She enjoyed the night breeze fluttering the curtains.

This tiny space on this tiny island in the Empire of Japan's back yard was an unlikely place for her to regroup. The incident with Admiral Grier left her jumping at shadows. She felt like she'd been running nonstop, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control in her life, since it happened. The attempted rape. The promotion. The trip to San Diego. The flight to Pearl Harbor. The 72-hour orientation on Espritos Marcos. Then here. Applying herself to her work should help her come to terms with her uneasy emotions or maybe drive them out of her mind entirely.

If there was ever a place that would take her mind off her problems, this was it. Her first hours at her new assignment made a few things clear. The Black Sheep of VMF 214 were everything she'd ever imagined and more. Sipping wine out of crystal goblets had not prepared her for drinking Scotch on a front area base. And these boys were not like any men she'd served with before.

She wondered if after things cooled off back in Washington in a month or two, maybe her father could pull some strings and get her out of here. But that ran the risk of him finding out why she was here in the first place and that was a can of worms she didn't want to open. No, she thought resolutely, she not not dragging her family into this. There was nothing to be gained from them ever knowing what happened. She knew her parents wouldn't blame her for what had happened but it was water under the bridge. They were probably disappointed enough in her already - first, her insistence on going nursing school and working in a public hospital, then when she'd behaved long enough to get engaged to a high profile political up and comer, she'd dumped him on his ear and joined the Navy. Now as far as they were concerned, she'd pretty much run away from home. Either way, it looked like she was going to have plenty of time to think about it before she saw them again.

She rolled over and punched her pillow. She wasn't going to be able to hide under the cloak of anonymity like she'd hoped. On the other hand, maybe no one out here cared what her last name was. Either way, the cat was out of the bag and a line mechanic from Flint was the only one who showed any indication he recognized her family. And he'd seemed more interested in her father's work with the B-24's than he had in her. Which was just fine.

Dee told the new girls most of the patients they saw here came in from hospital ships or other front areas, often only for emergency treatment or to be stabilized before being transferred to the larger hospital on Espritos. She imagined as long as she kept her nose in her own business, she could keep a safe distance from the boys at the other end of the island. Men had caused enough trouble in her life lately. The last thing she wanted was anything to do with any of them beyond a professional basis.

 **XXX**

 **The next morning**

 **Vella La Cava Navy Hospital**

"When you hear the planes come back, check your watch," Dee said when the squadron roared overhead on their way home from an early patrol. "Give them time to hit the Sheep Pen and the head and then they'll start showing up here."

Tori straightened, half-way through smoothing hospital corners on a bed in the infirmary. She couldn't keep the confusion off her face. Dee laughed.

"Don't get me wrong, sometimes it's legit. Those boys find all kinds of ways to get hurt. Other times it's . . ." She blew out her breath. "Half our job here is fixing wounded bodies. The other half is . . . well, even when they come back in one piece, sometimes they just need someone to talk to. You get used to the repeat offenders but don't let your guard down. They aren't afraid to play the wounded hero card."

As Dee predicted, 45 minutes later the front door to the hospital opened and closed.

"We are in need of some medical attention, ladies," a masculine voice announced.

"Serious medical attention," another voice seconded.

Tori recognized Jim Gutterman and TJ Wiley from the party the night before. She looked at Dee.

"Should I get Dr. Reese?"

Dee shook her head.

"If you boys are able to walk in here under your own steam, the only thing you're in need of is a cold shower," she said as Jim and TJ staggered into the room. "What's wrong with you this time?"

Jim unzipped his flight suit and stripped it down to his waist. He yanked his T-shirt over his head with no trace of modesty and jabbed a thumb toward his back. A livid burn started on his left shoulder and worked its way downward, fading just above the waistband of his shorts.

"It looks like you got hit by lightning!" Curiosity overcame Tori's initial surprise as she circled behind him. She'd spent a lot of time treating male patients in Bethesda but none had ever walked in, smelling of engine exhaust, sweat and Scotch and stripped down in front of her with such casual indifference. And were all the men out here so nicely proportioned and well-muscled? Her fingers twitched with the need to pick up a pencil. She'd had precious little time for drawing though there was no lack of material gathering in her mind.

"We came back over a flak field this morning." Jim grimaced. "A tracer zinged the canopy on my bird and sent hot metal splinters all over the cockpit. One of the damn things lodged under my mae west. I was trying to stay in the air and avoid the flak and knock that hot potato loose at the same time. That worked about as well as tits on a boar. The only good thing was it had to burn through my flight suit and my T-shirt before it started burning through me."

"Come in here and let me take a look." Dee took Jim's elbow and steered him into a treatment room.

"And what can I do for you, Lieutenant Wiley?" Tori asked, knowing her professional coolness was probably a waste of time but trying it anyway. At least maybe she could forestall him taking his clothes off. She _really_ wasn't used to that.

TJ held up his bandaged hand as he followed Jim.

"Think I popped one of Dee's stitches," he said. "I had a pretty hot hand on the stick this morning."

Jim snorted over his shoulder.

"The only time you've had a hot hand on your stick is when you're – "

"Let's take a look at those sutures," Tori interrupted hastily. She pointed at a chair. "Sit." After washing her hands, she loosened the bandage and inspected the tidy work Dee had done the previous day.

"Those look just fine to me," she said mildly. "I'm not sure how big your stick is but I don't think you were in danger of damaging anything."

Jim laughed heartily and Tori saw Dee swallow a smile.

"Whattaya say you come over and let me give you the nickel and dime tour of the 214?" TJ asked as Tori applied antiseptic salve and re-bandaged his hand. "I'd be happy to show you around. We could get to know each other better." His blue eyes were guileless but Tori wasn't having it.

"Thanks for the offer but Sergeant Hutchinson has already promised to give me a tour."

TJ's eyebrows shot up.

"Hutch? Good luck with that – you'll be rotated out before he finds time. That boy's busier than a one-armed paper hanger."

"I'll have to take that chance, won't I?" Tori cheerfully finished the bandage. "There. Maybe you should try keeping your hand off your stick for a few days."

Dee cleaned Jim's burns and applied a loose dressing over the worst of the injury on his shoulder.

"You'll want to stay off your back for a bit, Captain," she said. "Do I need to send care instructions to Sarah on Rendova?"

"No, dunno when I'll see her again. How about I just come back here and let you two good-looking girls take care of my needs?" he teased.

Dee blew out an exasperated breath.

"Honestly, Jim, did it ever occur to you boys that nurses don't want to fall into bed with every pilot who smiles at them?"

The dark-haired pilot grinned.

"Can't blame a guy for trying, darlin'." He gave Dee a friendly slap on the rump, then dodged her return swing with practiced ease.

"Casey's ruined you, Dee," TJ observed. "Maybe Lieutenant Bishop would be more appreciative of a big Black Sheep welcome."

"How big of a welcome do you have in mind?" Tori folded her arms across her chest. She was enjoying this verbal sparring more than she expected. None of her patients at her old posting had ever talked to her like this.

TJ grinned.

"Come over to the base tonight and I'll show you. Size matters, right?"

"Of course it does, nobody wants a small cup of coffee," Tori said briskly. "If that's all we can do for you gentlemen, I hear the coffee pot calling me." She wasn't joking. Her head still ached from the previous night's excess.

Jim shrugged back into his flight suit and he and TJ left.

"You handled that well," Dee said as Tori poured out two steaming mugs from the percolator at the nurses' station.

"I see what you mean about not letting your guard down. Are they always like that?" Tori mused, watching the two men leave.

"No," Dee said honestly. "Sometimes they're worse. Did Hutch really offer to give you a tour?"

"Yes. Should I be worried?"

"Not at all," Dee assured her. "I was surprised to see him at the party last night. He hardly ever ventures off the flight line. Nicest guy you could ever ask to meet but I think it's just because he doesn't have as much time to get in trouble as the rest of those boys do."

That was probably for the best, Tori thought, sipping her coffee and studying the day's duty roster. If her current workload was any indication, she understood exactly how he felt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Flyboys and mechanics**

 **A few days after the new nurses' party in the Sheep pen**

 **Navy Hospital, Vella La Cava  
**

"I don't need no damned hospital!"

The words echoed across the quiet ward and brought Tori's head up with a snap. She looked around from loading the autoclave to see John and Greg wrestling a belligerent-looking Sergeant Micklin through the front door.

She was familiar with Micklin only from what Dee had told her but it looked like that was about to change. She got the distinct impression the only reason the two men with him had succeeded in dragging him this far was because the sergeant's right hand was wrapped in a blood-stained towel he held protectively to his chest. All three men were wearing what appeared to be the base's standard uniform of T-shirts and fatigues. Tori noticed because John was missing the T-shirt.

"Why don't you let Doc Reese be the judge of that, Sarge? You're gonna bleed to death," John said. His tone indicated he was ready to let Micklin take his chances.

"Dr. Reese is in surgery at the moment," Tori said, watching as the moving wrestling match progressed. "What happened, Sergeant?"

"Nothing! Just a little scratch but these two mother hens won't let me be," Micklin bristled.

"He was splicing the wiring harness to fix a short on Greg's bird and the knife slipped. He spliced his hand instead," John said.

"Bring him in here." Tori led the way into an exam room. With Delmonte sequestered in her office and Dee and Laura assisting Dr. Reese, she was on her own.

"Ain't nothing a little salve and a bandage won't fix," Mickin insisted. "I could wrap it up just fine by myself. Don't need a bunch of fussin'."

"A little fussing never hurt anyone. Let's take a look." Tori gave him her best smile and was rewarded to see Micklin's bluster waver marginally. "Sit down." She pointed at the chair. "And give me that cigar."

When he hesitated, she reached out and plucked the item in question from his mouth, dropping it in an enamelware bowl on the counter.

"Now listen here, missy – " he began.

"There are patients on oxygen in here. You don't want to blow us all to kingdom come, do you?" she said mildly and turned to wash her hands. Behind her, someone made a strangled noise and she looked over her shoulder. John and Greg didn't bother to hide their amusement. Micklin glared at them then focused on Tori.

"It's just a little scratch, ma'am," he repeated as she unwound the towel.

"Mmm-hmm," she said, examining the deep, ragged cut that ran from the first knuckle on his index finger downward across the back of his hand. "A little scratch that's going to need cleaned and stitched. It doesn't look like you cut any tendons but with the constant movement of your hand, it won't heal properly unless the skin is sutured."

"You gonna do that?"

"I certainly can."

Micklin's scowl expressed skepticism.

"Mebbe I'd better wait for Doc Reese."

Unlike Jim and TJ who'd been more than willing to put their well-being into the nurses' hands, Micklin was clearly old school. Tori imagined he would hold out for a man's opinion even if he were on his death bed.

"You can wait if you wish," she continued reasonably. "Dr. Reese is putting Corporal Mitchell's arm back together, which shouldn't take more than – " she paused for effect and looked at her watch, "- another couple of hours. But that's up to you." She smiled. "You can sit right here and wait."

"How about I just come back tomorrow if it's still bothering me?" Micklin started to rise. "And gimme back my cigar."

Tori put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. His knees buckled in surprise and he sat with a thump. She heard laughing behind her but didn't turn around.

"Sit down, Sergeant. You may be in charge on the flight line but I get the last word here. You are not leaving without having that hand cleaned and stitched. Do you want me to call Lieutenant Commander Delmonte?"

"You don't want that, Sarge" John said. "You just thought you were in bad shape now. Wait until she gets done with you." He winked at Tori. "And she's not nearly as nice to look at as Lieutenant Bishop."

Tori shot him a look. She didn't know if he was making things better or worse. He shrugged and grinned.

Micklin glared at John. He glared at Greg. He glared at Tori. She smiled brightly.

"What'll it be, Sergeant? I can have you back to your airplanes in 30 minutes or you can wait for Dr. Reese and be here the rest of the afternoon."

"Okay, okay," Micklin grumbled. "You know what you're doing, right?" He looked skeptical.

"I graduated from nursing school with a gold star on my diploma," she assured him. It was the truth. She had graduated with honors. She had an almost intuitive understanding of the intricacies of the human body and learning the myriad of ways it could be healed had been a fascinating journey of discovery. "I'll give you a local anesthetic first. I promise you won't feel a thing." She turned to John and Greg. "You gentlemen can have a seat in the hall if you like. This won't take long."

"Nah. We'll stay and make sure he doesn't get out of hand," John said. His tone was dry and Tori got the feeling there might be more to it than that but she didn't argue. She was pretty sure if Delmonte had been there, both men would have abandoned Micklin to his fate without a backward glance. She drew lidocaine into a syringe. _Men_. She didn't dare look at John. That expanse of bare, muscled skin wasn't what she should be thinking about right now. Didn't he own a shirt?

"What's a girl as pretty as you doing out here?" Micklin asked. "You can't tell me you didn't have a whole line of boys at your door back home," He'd apparently resigned himself to his fate and either thought this was appropriate small talk or he was trying to annoy her enough she'd kick him out.

"Boys are generally more trouble than they're worth," she said and was rewarded with a rusty chuckle. She took his hand and slid the needle under the skin near the base of his index finger. She depressed the plunger slowly.

"I came out here to take care of big, brave fighting men like you – oh!" she yelped. "Catch him!" Micklin's eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped sideways away from her. Greg caught him before he could slide off the chair and shoved him back upright.

Tori extracted the needle and checked the unconscious man's pulse. It was strong and regular under her fingers.

"He's fine. He just fainted," she said.

"He's got a thing about needles," John said. "He's worse than Gutterman."

"You could have told me sooner," she muttered.

"What? And miss all the fun?"

"You have an odd sense of fun." She shook her head. "With any luck, he'll stay out until I'm done with the sutures. You –" she motioned to John, " – come over here and hold his arm steady. Major? Would you make sure he doesn't fall off the chair and crack his head? I'd have you put him in a bed until he regained consciousness but I don't imagine he'd take kindly to be coddled. I'll just stitch him up and when he wakes up, he can be on his way."

With John stabilizing Micklin's arm and Greg keeping the inert form upright in the chair, Tori cleaned the wound and put in a series of quick, neat sutures. She was aware of John watching her as she worked.

"You're good with a needle," he said. "We've all been sewn up by the best out here and that's Dee – Lieutenant Ryan. But I'd say you're every bit as good as she is."

"I'm sure she's had a lot more practice than I have." Tori tied off the last stitch. She was rather proud of her work. The truth was, the patients she treated at Bethesda were usually post-surgical. She had very little hand in the repairs that restored their bodies. Her job had been the monotonous task of changing dressings, administering medicine and helping the men learn how to function with limbs that no longer worked like they used to. Being involved with the initial treatment of wounds and illness was an intriguing new concept.

Micklin's eyes fluttered and his trademark scowl reappeared. He glared at Greg, then at John before his eyes settled on Tori.

"What happened?"

"You fainted and while you were out, I fixed your hand. There you go, Sarge," she said lightly, wrapping a length of gauze around the wounded hand and tying it off. "See if you can keep that clean."

"Keep it clean, my sweet aunt," Micklin muttered. "Whattaya think I'm running here? A tea party?"

"Maybe," Tori said with extra sweetness in her voice, "you could take it easy for a few days and put John in charge."

The line chief snatched his cigar out of the pan and chomped on it fiercely.

"Now I got females telling me how to run my line. Lemme outta here," he grumbled. "Boyington, you driving me back to the base or do I have to walk?" He looked at Tori and apparently relented. "Thank you, ma'am."

John hung back as Greg and the still-grumbling line chief headed out of the building.

"I've never seen anyone pull rank on Micklin and walk away in one piece. They teach you how to do that in nursing school?"

Tori collapsed against the wall and let out her breath.

"Hardly. For a minute I really thought I was going to have to call Delmonte."

"That would have been worth the price of admission." He braced one hand casually against the wall. "Hey, when are you going to come over and let me give you that tour of the base?"

Tori's senses went on full alert. It really didn't sound like any pick-up line she'd heard before but she'd been given so many warnings regarding the Black Sheep she was seeing ulterior motives behind every palm tree. Still, he wasn't a pilot, so maybe that was different. She met his eyes, dark and sparkling, and felt the heat of his grin with a physical impact. No, he might be a mechanic but he was still just as much of a Black Sheep as any of the boys on that base.

He was genuine though, she thought. There was a teasing quality to his words but the invitation was nothing more than it appeared on the surface. She returned his smile. Look but don't touch, the little voice in the back of her mind chided. Take a nice long look so you can sketch him later, another voice encouraged. Great. Now she had multiple voices in her head.

"I"ll come over tomorrow and check Sergeant Micklin's hand, whether he wants me to or not. See you then?"

The jeep's horn blared from in front of the hospital and Micklin's voice boomed off the building.

"Let's go, Hutchinson! Them birds ain't gonna fix themselves!"

"All right," he said hastily, "see you then." He turned and loped down the corridor.

Tori watched him go, a smile lingering on her face.

 **XXX**

 **The next day**

 **1500 hours**

Tori gathered bandages and a bottle of antiseptic from a supply cupboard into a bag.

"Headed to the 214?" Dee inquired, leaning against the cupboard and covering a yawn. "Take extra of everything – no matter what you go there for, those boys will find a dozen new things that hurt. And they'll try to take their clothes off to show you most of them."

"I'm going to check Sergeant Micklin's hand," Tori said. "I don't know if he'll even let me touch him again. I'm pretty sure he's not going to take anything off."

Dee pushed away from the wall and after a brief inventory of the cupboard, added scissors, a bar of soap, antiseptic salve, extra rolls of gauze, several elastic bandages, antihistamines, aspirin and a bottle of calamine lotion to Tori's bag.

"Um, thanks." Tori studied the odd assortment but didn't comment. "What are the odds he's managed to keep it clean and not tear any stitches out?"

"Slim to none. Want me to go with you?"

Tori studied Dee. The dark-haired nurse looked exhausted.

"No. You got pulled out of the rack early to help Reese with those boys off the _Essex_. Your shift is done. You don't need any extra duty."

"Going to see her sweetie is never extra duty," Laura said cheerfully as she passed by with an arm full of clean linens. "Casey would find somewhere to make it worth her effort."

"I'd probably fall asleep on him." Dee said. "I'm going to catch some rack time. See you girls later. Tor – if you're not back by 1900 should we come looking for you or assume you got a better offer?"

"I'd say if she's not back by 1900, she's not coming back," Laura teased.

"Oh shut up," Tori said. "How bad can they be?"

"Oh honey, you really are the new girl here," Dee laughed.

 **XXX**

Tori steered the jeep along the dirt track from the hospital compound to the fighter base, half her mind on finding the right gears on the manual transmission and the other half on how to handle Sergeant Micklin. She suspected his bark was worse than his bite, at least when it came to female personnel, but treating him at the hospital had been one thing. Treating him on his own turf was likely to be something else. She kept her mind firmly applied to marshaling her best professional demeanor. If she thought about Sergeant Micklin enough, there wasn't any room left to think about Sergeant Hutchinson.

John Hutchinson had no business wandering into her thoughts but he was doing it anyway and it vexed her. Men who were not in need of medical attention should be the last thing on her mind but he refused to cooperate. It would help if he'd put a damn shirt on.

She'd met him exactly three times –10 minutes after she landed here, that night when he'd saved her from falling in the mud and yesterday, when he came into the hospital with Micklin and Boyington. Each time, he'd been polite, teasing and a perfect gentleman, none of which could account for the amount of time that rogue's smile kept appearing in her mind's eye.

Tori slowed as she entered the base. She'd never driven a jeep before but liked the rugged feel of the vehicle, now that she'd sorted out the gearbox. She downshifted and studied her surroundings. The 214 dozed in the late afternoon sun. She passed the Sheep Pen and angled toward the flight line. She'd only been here once before – in the dark - and had no idea where she was going. She assumed Sergeant Micklin would be found in the vicinity of the planes but she was under no illusion he wanted to be found.

"Hey, Tori!" A familiar voice came from above her head. She pulled the jeep to a stop and tipped her face back. Her heart did an unexpected little flip. John was perched atop a ladder by one of the planes. He was backlit by the sun and for an absurd moment, she thought he was wearing only a hat and boots. As he slid down the ladder with agility born of long practice, she realized he was, indeed, wearing trousers. She caught a quick breath of relief but it was short-lived.

"I see you found your way out here." He leaned against the driver's side of the jeep, displaying an expanse of tanned, sweaty skin. The dark hair across his chest matched the stubble on his jaw. His trousers rode loose and low and appeared to be in imminent danger of falling off his lean frame.

She hauled her eyes back to his face. She really should keep them there but that seemed like a shame when there were so many other interesting places they wanted to go.

"I came to check Sergeant Micklin's hand," she said with resolve. Sergeant Micklin's hand was absolutely the last thing on her mind. Why hadn't General Moore transferred her to Alaska or somewhere men bothered to wear clothes?

"He's in the mechanics' shed." John jerked his head toward an open-sided shed nearby. "Come on, I'll take you over there. He's been expecting you."

I bet he has, Tori thought as she swung out of the jeep.

Micklin met them with his trademark cigar jammed in his teeth and a scowl on his face. There was a large, oily thing Tori assumed had come out of an airplane clamped in a vice on the workbench and he was whacking at it with a wrench clenched awkwardly in his left hand. Tori noticed his right hand was swathed in a glove.

"I see you took my advice," she said, indicating the glove.

"Hutch stuffed me in this," Micklin grumbled. "Every time I try to do something, he takes the tools away from me."

"Good for him. Let's see how that hand looks. I'd like to check –"

"I told you yesterday, I ain't got time for fussin', Lieutenant," the line chief interrupted. He added grudgingly, "It's just fine. I'm busy here, honey. I'll take the stitches out myself in a few days."

"You will do no such thing," Tori snapped. She drew herself up to her full 5 feet, 7 inches and matched his glare. He took a step back. "I want to make sure you haven't torn them out already. Let me check it and put on a clean bandage." She pointed at a jeep seat bolted atop an old ammo crate. "Sit down. I'm not leaving until you do."

She fixed him with a no nonsense look and his shoulders dropped in resignation. She was aware of John, leaning against the workbench, not even bothering to hide his smile. Micklin sank into the seat. Tori pulled the glove off his right hand and unwrapped the bandage. She was pleased to see her stitches were still in place with no signs of inflammation.

"You'll be healed in no time, Sergeant," she said cheerfully, re-wrapping his hand. "You need to leave those stitches in for 10 days but if you take them out in seven, it'll be our little secret." She handed him the glove and watched until he gingerly pulled it back on. "You're on your own now. I'll quit fussing."

Micklin tipped his cap and strode off, already yelling at a luckless underling. Tori watched him go and shook her head.

"I appreciate you keeping an eye on him," she said to John. "I'll leave this roll of gauze so he can change the bandage as he needs to. I'm sure that one won't stay clean much longer." She started to set it on the workbench, saw how filthy the surface was and handed it to John instead. He reached for it and flinched.

Tori caught a glimpse of his right hand. The second and third fingers were swollen and bruised. At least she thought they were bruised. They were so dirty it was hard to tell.

"Hey!" She reached out and caught his wrist. "What happened?"

"Nothing." He tried pulling away. She didn't let go.

"That's not nothing. Let me see."

She wrestled his arm away from his body, clenching her teeth to keep her mind off his bare torso.

His hand was calloused and scored with half-healed nicks and scrapes. Tori had an odd, discordant vision of the pale, manicured softness of her ex-fiance's hands and pushed it hastily from her mind. She ran her fingers along the swollen digits, keeping her touch light, and felt him wince.

"What happened?" she asked again.

"Jammed them loading ammo this morning." He shrugged. "Don't worry, they'll be better in a few days."

"A few days? You've done this before?"

"Occupational hazard, ma'am."

She glared at him.

"Don't ma'am me."

Without letting go of his wrist, she looked around.

"Do you have running water out here?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now you're doing it on purpose. Stop it. I need a basin of warm water."

He regarded her lazily.

"Why?"

"So I can clean up your hand and treat it."

The lazy smile grew wider. He didn't move.

"And why would you want to do that?"

"Because part of my job is keeping you flyboys in good repair. And you're not."

"I'm not a flyboy. They're all up at the Sheep Pen if that's what you're looking for."

That grin was enough to take her mind off everything. _Damn it_. She scrambled to regain her train of thought.

"I'm not looking for anything. I want to make sure you haven't dislocated anything, then I'll immobilize them. It will keep you from damaging them further and they'll heal faster."

John didn't say anything, just pulled his injured hand closer to his body, which pulled Tori right along with it. She tried pulling back but he easily out-muscled her without even touching her. He seemed to be enjoying it. She didn't know if she was enjoying it or not. There was no telling how long this would have gone on if Micklin's voice hadn't interrupted.

"Here you go, Lieutenant."

They turned to see the line chief set a steaming basin of clean water on the edge of the workbench. He was chuckling.

"Now it's your turn," Micklin said to John. "See how you like it when bossy womenfolk start giving orders." He sounded positively delighted.

"Thank you, Sergeant," Tori said politely. She turned back to John. She was still gripping his wrist. "If I let go, you won't run off, will you?"

His eyes held hers just a little longer than necessary.

"I might be persuaded to stick around."

"Don't do me any favors," she said and let go of him. She rummaged through her bag of supplies and handed him the bar of soap. "Wash."

"Yes, ma'–"

She held up a warning finger.

"Don't."

He dipped his injured hand in the water, fumbled the soap and dropped it. He tried again and this time the slick bar shot out of his stiff fingers. It ricocheted around the rim of the basin before landing with a plop on the bench.

"Here." She rescued the soap. "Let me."

Taking his hand with both of hers, she submerged it in the water.

John protested.

"I can wash my own hands."

"Obviously you can't." Mild exasperation crept into her tone. Experience with patients who insisted they could do something usually guaranteed they could not. With one hand, she gently she flattened his fingers against her opposite palm. He flinched but didn't say anything.

"Sorry," she said.

He relaxed his arm and shifted, stepping behind her. Tori thought he was standing a little closer than he needed to but it made her job easier. She focused on what she was doing. John dipped his head and she could feel his breath, warm against the back of her neck.

"You smell wonderful."

She froze, her body gone rigid. She took a deep breath and forced herself to exhale the tension. Nothing was going to happen. They were on the flight line in the middle of the afternoon, for God's sake. She shifted uneasily, her mouth gone dry. She forced words out of her throat.

"Tell me again how you got hurt."

He chuckled. The sound was low and warm and didn't help anything.

"I think the correct response is, 'Thank you, Sergeant, how kind of you to notice.' "

"You've noticed enough," she said firmly. "Now tell me how you did this."

"They're just jammed. Are you always this hard to flirt with?"

"Do you always flirt with nurses who come out here to do their jobs?"

"Never get a chance," he said with sincerity. "The nurses never make it past the Sheep Pen. Kate's out here all the time but she's Greg's girl and she's not a nurse, anyway. Amd we'd never try anything at the hospital with Delmonte lurking around. That old battle axe brought Casey up on charges and put Dee under hack for making out in the infirmary a few months back."

Tori struggled to absorb this.

"You're very blunt, Sergeant."

"So we're back to _sergeant_? All right, _ma'am_." He grinned, white teeth in a sunburned face, hair windblown and sweaty.

Tori started counting to 10, then decided it wouldn't be nearly enough. She finished washing his hand. He stood without moving but she could feel the heat of his body almost but not quite touching hers. It was awkward and not entirely unpleasant at the same time. The water in the bowl turned brown and she pulled a towel out of her bag. He watched with amusement as she gently dried his hand.

"What's so funny?"

"You. Seriously. First Micklin, now me. This is more medical attention in one day than we've ever had out here."

Clean now, the two swollen fingers were definitely black and blue. John stood stoically as Tori gently manipulated them.

"They're not dislocated."

"Thanks for confirming my diagnosis, Doc. Think you can save them?" His irrepressible good humor tugged at her resolve. She gave him a vexed look but her earlier unease was gone.

John leaned against the workbench, hand outstretched, watching as she buddy-taped the two injured fingers snuggly together. Satisfied, she gathered her supplies.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of you icing them a couple of times today? That would help with both the pain and swelling."

"I will, if the boys haven't used it all for drinks." He reached out and squeezed her hand with his undamaged – and unwashed - left. "Thanks. They feel better already."

She tensed again. His touch was gentle and oddly intimate in spite of the rough setting. The scent of aviation fuel blew on the hot wind, blending with the shouts of the mechanics on the line. John's fingers were long and sun-browned under smudges of grease and general filth. He curved them around the clean softness of her own hand with only the slightest pressure, running his thumb lightly over her knuckles. Neither Preston's methodical fumbling or Grier's drunken groping had felt anything like this, she realized. It was nice.

Nice and completely inappropriate.

"Let go of me," she said, the uncertainness of her voice lending doubt to just how much she wanted him to let go.

He ignored her. He turned her palm up and stroked it with his thumb. She willed herself not to tremble.

"You have beautiful hands, Lieutenant."

"Stop it." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Stop what? I didn't call you ma'am. Tori."

"You – ," she faltered. The sound of her name on his lips made her heart do funny things.

Micklin appeared around the corner of the shed, an anonymous bit of oily metal dripping from his left hand like a hunting trophy. Tori jerked away and John let her go. She took a hasty step back. She needed to get out of here. Dee and Laura's warnings came crashing back a hundredfold. These boys were smooth. It didn't matter one bit if they were pilots or mechanics or in charge of digging latrines.

"Hey, Sarge! Doc Bishop here says I can't work and should take the rest of the day off on account of I'm wounded," John called out.

"I did not say that!" she hissed.

He grinned at her. Without turning around, Micklin waved his gloved hand in the air.

"Get outta here," he grumbled.

"Come on, I'll give you that tour I promised." John hesitated, then held up his injured hand. "You'll have to drive." His grin broadened. "I don't mind letting a girl drive now and then." Tori narrowed her eyes and willed the color not to come up in her cheeks. She knew exactly what he meant and it had nothing to do with the jeep.

She frantically looked around. This was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid but since John had already climbed into the passenger seat she didn't see any way out of it, short of physically evicting him and she doubted that was going to happen.

"All right, where are we going?" She turned the motor over and put the jeep in gear, relieved when it didn't stall. It had taken her three tries to get out of the yard at the hospital motor pool.

"Take a left."

They rolled slowly down the flight line with John yelling friendly insults to the other mechanics and pointing out things at random. His voice was smooth, like the well-worn leather of her favorite saddle back home, and Tori relaxed in spite of her initial reserve. He guided her through the base, past the supply tent, the men's tents, the former VIP tent – now Kate's quarters and newspaper field office - the ops shack, the com shack and the mess before circling back to the Sheep Pen.

"Come in and have a drink," he said when she pulled to a halt.

"I really should get back to the hospital," she protested, looking at her watch. She was off-duty now. As long as she was back by curfew at 2100, it didn't really matter what she did. Yeah. She should just keep telling herself that.

"If you don't come in for a drink, those guys won't believe me when I tell them one of the nurses came out here and actually set foot on the flight line."

Again, that smile.

"All right." Her resolve gave way to curiosity.

 **XXX**

"Victoria! Welcome back." Greg greeted her as she stepped into the building ahead of John. Tori smiled to herself. She'd been accepted to the point where her rank could be dropped from her name but her nickname hadn't come into common use. Except with John, she realized. He didn't have any reservations about using it.

She looked around. Overhead, the blades of a ceiling fan spun lazily. A few of the boys were playing darts with more enthusiasm than skill. Kate looked up from a table covered with black and white photos and waved. Tori waved back.

"What brings you out here?" Greg asked.

"I've been putting your mechanics back together."

"Glad to hear it. They put us back together all the time but no one services them."

The sparkle in his blue eyes made it clear the double entendre was on purpose. First John, now him. She felt warmth rising in her cheeks but refused to look away. Two could play this game.

"And how often do they need to be serviced?"

That seemed to take him aback briefly. He looked at John with a devil-may-care grin on his face.

"I don't know. Whattaya think, Hutch?"

If John said anything, Tori didn't stick around to hear it. She let herself into the battered refrigeration unit behind the bar and found a tray of ice cubes. Breaking them into a clean bar rag, she fashioned a makeshift ice pack and took it back to the table. She took John's wrist, flattened his palm on the table and pressed the ice onto his fingers.

"I hope you can drink left handed," she said drily.

"You could hold the cup for me," he suggested.

Tori was saved from answering by the entrance of a group of pilots who insisted she join them in a toast to Anderson who'd taken down his fourth Zeke that morning. She acquiesced but vehemently refused the offered Scotch. For the love of God, if she'd ever needed to keep her wits about her, it was when she was surrounded by these boys. Someone fished a Coke out of the refrigerator for her and with Kate joining them, Tori raised the green bottle to clink against porcelain mugs, canteen cups and mis-matched glass tumblers.

Kate downed her drink, gathered her prints and headed into the darkroom, a small anteroom at the back of the bar. She disappeared, then popped her head back out through the door.

"Hey, Tori, just holler if you need help keeping this lot under control."

"Thanks," Tori called back. She looked around and felt slightly outnumbered but curiously, not uncomfortable. She sipped her Coke and relaxed as John and Greg talked about on-going maintenance issues. She asked Bobby Anderson about the morning's mission and was regaled with an enthusiastic re-enactment of the dogfight over the airfield at Kahili.

Dee had been right about one thing. It wasn't long before Jim asked her to check the burns on his back and Jerry asked if she would remove a splinter embedded in his palm. Tori retrieved her supplies from the jeep and set up shop. She re-bandaged Jim's shoulder and extracted Jerry's splinter.

Then Don French hiked up his pants leg and asked her to look at a blistering rash on his calf.

"It doesn't itch as much as it burns," he said. "It's on my, um, backside, too. You want that I should -?"

He started to unbuckle his trousers. Tori hastily assured him it looked like contact dermatitis, most likely from plant oils, and suggested he apply calamine lotion and be a little more selective about where he took his pants off. That brought an appreciative round of laughter from the men.

Casey and Jerry wrestled an uncomfortable-looking Bobby Boyle over and shoved him in a chair.

"Tell her," Jerry ordered.

"Naw," Boyle protested. "It ain't nothin'."

"Nothing? I nearly got flamed this morning because you were scratching your ass," Jerry snarled. "We gotta go up again tomorrow and if you don't let her look at it, I'm gonna fix it so your ass is the least of your problems."

Bobby shifted awkwardly and scratched at his chest.

"It ain't nothin'," he repeated. "Just a rash. It'll go away."

"And what if it don't? Pappy, if he's still all itchy scratchy tomorrow, I want a new wingman."

Tori decided she'd better take control of the situation.

"What exactly is the problem?"

"My skin itches like crazy." Bobby stated the obvious, rubbing his chest, then his belly and the tops of his thighs. "Even the palms of my hands itch."

"Have you been, um . . ." Her mind scrambled to phrase it delicately, then decided that was a waste of time. She glanced at Don, who found the whole thing immensely funny. Turning back to Bobby, she asked, "Have you been rolling around on the ground without your clothes, too?"

"No! Well. Yeah. But we were on the beach, not in the jungle. There weren't any plants. And we were on a blanket."

"We?" Tori couldn't resist teasing him a little. Dee and Laura had told her about the boys' proclivity for taking girls to the beach after hours. She thought that was an unlikely place for romance but it seemed to be one of several unlikely social norms out here.

"Yeah. Me and Bette." He named the curvy little brunette nurse who'd been on duty with Tori earlier that day. Tori thought she'd had an extra sparkle in her eye even if she did keep yawning.

He scratched again and looked so abjectly miserable Tori felt sorry for him.

"Pull up your shirt."

Bobby complied. Tori, along with the rest of the assembled boys, studied his torso, which was covered with angry red blotches.

"It's all down the front of my thighs, too. Should I - ?" He paused, hands on the waistband of his pants.

"No! I'll take your word for it," she said hastily. This unit clearly had no issues with modesty.

"When did this start?"

"Woke up with it this morning."

"What did you do last night?"

"I just told you." Bobby didn't look repentant.

"He ain't contagious, is he?" Jim asked, edging away.

Tori stepped behind Bobby and lifted his shirt. His back was an expanse of freckled, tanned skin.

"Is it on the back of your legs?"

"No, ma'am."

"So only on your front, not your back?" Tori crossed her arms and swallowed a smile. "Was Bette using any new body lotion?"

Bobby brightened.

"Yeah. It smelled wonderful. She said it came from Australia, blended with eucalyptus oil or something like that."

"I'm afraid you're allergic to it. _Very_ allergic to it. That's what caused the hives. Since the only places you're broken out are places that had skin to skin contact . . ." She didn't have to finish the sentence. A tide of color rose in Bobby's face and the men broke into good-natured teasing. She fished the bottle of antihistamine tablets out of her bag. "Take two of these every six hours. Go take a long shower with cool water and mild soap. You should be better by tomorrow morning." Then, because she couldn't resist, added, "if you can keep your clothes on that long."

"Thanks, ma'am." Bobby's flush deepened. He got up and walked stiffly out the door.

"Only you could be allergic to your girlfriend, Boyle," Jerry called out after him.

Tori looked at her watch and yelped. It was nearly 1900 hours.

"I have to go." Her carriage was going to turn into a pumpkin if she didn't get out of here. "Thanks for the Coke," she said to John. She was conscious of the boys watching her.

"I'll walk you out." John rose and scooped up her bag, leaving no room for argument.

She argued anyway.

"I can find the jeep by myself," she protested.

"I didn't say you couldn't. But I'd rather be out here with you than in there with them."

Tori tried desperately to regain control of the conversation. He had no business talking to her that way. She reached out and grasped his right wrist to inspect his fingers.

"Go back in there and ice them for 10 more minutes."

The fingers of his left hand found hers and twined through them. They fit perfectly and she startled at the unexpected touch.

"Come back when you can stay longer. Thanks for your . . . _service_." His smile was pure sin. She pulled her hand back and he let her go. Tori didn't trust herself to say anything. She dropped the jeep into gear and hit the accelerator. She was all the way back to the hospital before her heart quit pounding.

 **XXX**

"That girl's got a nice touch," Jim stepped out of the Sheep Pen as the jeep disappeared in the distance.

"Yeah. She does." Hutch studied his bandaged fingers. "I gotta go. Micklin's gonna work me overtime since I took the afternoon off."

"Can you imagine those hands on your – "

Yeah. He could. He'd done a lot of imagining in the last couple of hours.

"Give it up, Gutterman. It's not gonna happen."

Jim raised his eyebrows.

"It's not gonna happen if you don't make it happen." He didn't let up. "You need to follow up on that. I think she likes you."

"You need a cork for the hole in your head."

Jim was chuckling as Hutch headed back to the line. The clean scent of Tori's skin and the gentle touch of her hands clung to him even as he immersed himself in the mess of TJ's engine.

He'd never shared the pilots' smooth-talking approach to hooking up with the nurses. Oh, sure, he could do smooth talk with the best of them but he liked getting to know a girl more than just superficially before he slept with her. Sometimes, though, it was easier to just cut to the chase. That approach didn't amount to much beyond the moment's pleasure but it was a whole lot less complicated. He had no one but himself to blame for not having any female companionship and he knew it, but he cringed to see the way some of the men used the nurses. Well, the nurses used them right back so he guessed all was fair in love and war. He just had a hard time treating women like they were a moment's convenience. His parents had been married for 25 years and they still held hands. He wondered if he'd ever meet a girl he'd still feel that way about 25 years later.

There were a few exceptions. Take Kate. She was easy to talk to. He'd spent hours with her on the line when she was gathering information for her first story about the Black Sheep. She was a total knockout but he hadn't even thought about hitting on her. He'd seen her with Greg the first day she was on the base and there'd been something about the two of them together – a vibe or an aura, hell, he couldn't even explain it – that made him know the two of them were meant to be together though they'd been yelling at each other at the time.

He'd enjoyed talking to Tori that afternoon, even though she was only there as part of her duty. It wasn't like she'd come to see him on purpose. Her response to him had been more tolerance than encouragement but he'd felt that quick, sexy quiver when he took her hand. She was gorgeous, confident and funny, with that don't-mess-with-me authority that seemed to come standard with Navy nurses. And there was something else, something a little haunted behind that sparkling smile. Well, a girl was entitled to her secrets.

Regardless, he was under no illusion she saw him as anything more than a patient who needed treating. Jim had been out in the sun for too long if he thought otherwise. He forced his mind off Lieutenant Victoria Bishop and onto the issue at hand.

 _Jeez, TJ, what have you done to this bird?  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Of men and Meatball**

 **Nurses Quarters**

 **1945 Hours**

Tori noticed the loose button when she got the blouse back from the laundry. A quick tug and it came off in her hand. Frowning, she dropped it into her pocket and stepped across the hall to borrow a needle and thread from Dee. Her sewing kit had disappeared somewhere between Bethesda and La Cava and she hadn't found the time to assemble a new one.

She was surprised to find Kate and Laura in Dee's room, too, sharing a bottle. The girls were doubled over laughing and at first Tori thought they were all pie-eyed drunk.

"Come in," Dee wheezed, motioning her into the room. "Shut the door. Kate was just re-telling the story about her escapade on Espritos with the boys last month. Join us." She waved at the fifth of Scotch on her desk. Tori poured a cautious two fingers and leaned against the wall. She'd spent the afternoon with the Black Sheep. The drink was justified. Her mind was still trying to come to terms with Sergeant John Hutchinson's offbeat sense of gallantry and teasing. She didn't think alcohol was the answer but it might not be a bad start.

"So," Kate picked up where she'd left off, "Colonel Lard comes stomping into the room, I'm sitting on the bed with my blouse unbuttoned, not wearing anything from the waist down but stockings and panties – the black lace you gave me - " she gestured at Laura who nodded approvingly, " - Jim and Casey are hiding in the bathroom and Greg says to Lard, 'Can't you see I've got better things to do tonight than break into your office?'" She looked at Tori and added, "Greg and Casey _did_ break into Lard's office that night but it was earlier. I thought the man was going to have a coronary. He actually warned me about getting involved with Greg before he stormed out."

"Mmmmm," Laura closed her eyes. "And then what happened? After Lard left? And Jim and Casey left? That's what we want to hear about."

" _That_ 's none of your business," Kate said. She stretched her legs, crossed them at the ankles and sipped her drink.

Dee and Laura sighed. Tori grinned appreciatively. She might be new here but the romance between the 214's CO and the AP correspondent assigned to the base was the stuff of legend.

"Hey, it looked like you and Hutch were having a good time this afternoon." Kate's abrupt subject change caught Tori off guard.

"I went over to check Sergeant Micklin's hand," she said. The other girls looked at her expectantly and she shifted under their scrutiny. "Then John needed – "

"John?" Dee interrupted. "You're on a first-name basis with Hutch?"

"Yes. If I can make him stop calling me ma'am." Tori felt heat rising in her cheeks. "Is that a problem?"

"Oh, no problem," Kate assured her, smiling. "He's a sweetheart but he's practically a monk by Black Sheep standards. Maybe you'll convince him to get his hands on more than plane parts."

"It's not like that," Tori protested, flushing hot at the memory of John's fingers curling around hers, his thumb stroking her palm. "He's just . . . nice . . ." Words deserted her and she buried her face in her drink.

"Uh-huh." Kate refilled her glass and lifted it in a toast. "Here's to _nice_. Those boys are all nice. That's how it starts. You have no idea the level of crazy that goes on when you get involved with one of them."

"I'm not interested in boys," Tori said. Then realizing how it sounded, added hastily, "I'm not interested in girls, either!"

She realized they were all laughing again and joined them, letting go of her moment's attack of self-consciousness. Why did everything around here always come down to sex?

"Sweetie, you're trying too hard," Dee said. "Enjoy their attention, enjoy a little more if you want to. No one out here judges."

"I didn't come out here looking to jump into a man's bed," Tori said firmly, trying to rescue a degree of poise.

"Good, because it's impossible to find a comfortable one on this rock," Kate said. "Tents are okay but they're risky. I can recommend several spots on the beach – or press quarters on Espritos – "

"Or the com shack," Dee said innocently.

"Are you serious? I was working at that desk yesterday!" Kate tried to look offended.

"Who said anything about the desk?" Dee teased.

"Oh, God! Not the chair. I sat in that chair! Oh, just don't tell me – I won't be able to work there again."

"If you knew half the places the boys have scored on this base, you'd never work anywhere. The VIP tent was pretty popular until you moved in."

As Tori followed the banter, she realized she'd seriously underestimated the level of interaction between the men and women out here. The nurses she shared a common barracks with at Bethesda had all talked about their steady guys but if their dates went beyond chaste kisses at the end of the evening, she'd missed those conversations. It was almost as if they didn't exist from the waist down.

Out here, the war had a way of knocking proper conduct entirely off the moral compass. There was no guarantee those boys would come back, day after day, mission after mission. In spite of their bravado, the only things between them and death were raw nerves and skill, prayers to the deity of their choice and the dedication of the line crew who kept their planes in top form. Who could blame the girls who said yes in private moments in the dark? Physical love was an affirmation of the here and now, devil take tomorrow.

Kate looked at her watch and drained her glass. "I'm out of here. I don't want to be around if Delmonte starts doing bed checks. I don't think she likes me much."

Laura snorted.

"If Delmonte had somebody sharing her bed, maybe she wouldn't be so worried about who we have in ours," she said.

"As if," Dee snorted. "The last time Delmonte got laid, Roosevelt was president. Teddy, not Franklin."

The girls' laughter spilled into the hallway as they went to their rooms and Kate ducked out the back door. Dee found a needle and thread to match Tori's button.

"Thanks." She stepped into the hall.

"Hey?" Dee's tone was conversational. "This isn't any of my business so feel free to tell me to get lost but have you, um, been with a guy since Admiral Greene – Greeley – " She waved a hand in the air.

"Grier," Tori supplied automatically, turning back into the room. She'd forgotten Dee was the only person here other than Delmonte who'd read her file. As far as the other girls knew, she was just another patriotic volunteer answering Uncle Sam's call to serve her country.

"Since Admiral Grier, tried to, you know – "

Tori took a deep breath. Fueled by the earlier whisky, she grabbed the conversation by the horns.

"Since that bastard tried to rape me? No. I was on a train to the west coast 16 hours later, then on a plane out here. It all happened so fast . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Had you slept with anybody before he - ?"

"Yes," Tori said slowly. "I was engaged. It didn't work out."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"There wasn't much to be enthusiastic about," Tori said honestly.

"But you like boys, right? I mean, if girls are your thing, well, whatever." Dee shrugged. "Just don't let the Black Sheep know because they'll see it as a personal challenge to convert you. But don't blame yourself for what happened back in the States. Real men don't treat women that way."

Tori didn't know if she was shocked or embarrassed or grateful the other girl cared enough to pursue this conversation. She was out of practice at having friends, she realized, real friends, either women or men. Same sex friendships had grown from youthful childishness to the competitiveness of young women of the upper classes. There'd been little time or opportunity for lasting friendships beyond her peers in nursing school and she hadn't been close to any of them.

Along the way, she'd never talked to anyone about Preston's underwhelming presence in the bedroom. She was so sheltered it had taken her awhile to realize there was more to physical love than what she'd experienced and it certainly wasn't the sort of thing she was going to ask her mother about. There'd been no one she trusted enough to talk to about the feelings of disgust she felt after the admiral assaulted her, even if there had been time. Her sister Olivia would have listened but Olivia was thousands of miles away and busy with a new baby.

"No, I like boys fine. It's just . . . after _him_. . ." Tori shuddered. "I don't know if I'm ready to do that again." The memory of hands, hard and uncaring, sent a wave of revulsion through her. The assault had been about lust and power. She'd been nothing more than warm flesh to be used for his satisfaction.

Dee squeezed her shoulder. Tori made a face. She chose her words carefully.

"It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it. I don't know if I ever want a man to touch me again but it's more than that . . . I'm _angry_." She was surprised at the word. "I'm angry at men. All they care about is themselves."

"Oh sweetie, we've all been there. Even when we love them. And they're not all like that."

Dee picked up the bottle and splashed more whiskey into Tori's glass. Tori surprised herself by downing it in two quick gulps. She wheezed and caught her breath.

"I know. I mean, look at you and Casey. And Greg and Kate. You're all so _right_ for each other. I can tell Casey loves you without ever saying a word – he treats you like you're the most important thing in his life. And the way Greg acts around Kate - like they're equals and they're in this together. I'm just tired of being . . . _used_." She spat out the word. "Preston – my ex-fiance – never really cared who I really was. It was always about him – what he wanted, how he felt." She screwed up her face, anger rising through her in an unaccustomed outburst. "I was just another acquisition. I had the right last name. I looked good on his arm. It was like having a new suit or a vacation home in the Hamptons. He never cared about what I thought or felt, as long as his voters loved him and we looked good together in photo ops. And Grier . . . Grier didn't even - " she stopped, lips trembling. "He didn't even ask! He just took. He acted like I was less than a person. When I said no, he hit me."

Dee's eyes filled with compassion.

"Tori, you're gorgeous. Any man would be proud to have you on his arm. But the right man is going to care about more than how you look. Just give it a chance. Around here, there's no shortage of chances."

"Yeah, I've noticed that." Tori took a deep breath and let the anger drain away. She thought again of the warmth of John's fingers on her hand that afternoon. "I never dated after Preston. It was just easier not to. And no man is going to want to deal with my hang-ups now. I just need time to get over it." She rolled her eyes. "Like a couple of years."

"Time and the right man," Dee said slowly. "Sex is about trust. Sleeping – just sleeping, nothing else – with a guy is about trust. I mean, to trust him enough to fall asleep in his arms, knowing you're safe with him, that he respects you . . . that's the foundation for fireworks in bed."

Tori took the whisky bottle back.

"If we're going to talk about sex, I need more to drink." She splashed more amber liquid into the glass and sipped it thoughtfully. Preston had been markedly lacking in the fireworks department.

"It's trusting someone enough to share your body with him and having him trust you with his in return. Giving yourself to someone is the ultimate trust." She grinned. "That's as philosophical about sex as I'm going to get. When it's right, you'll know it. Take your time. The boys out here will be happy to accommodate you."

Tori raised her glass in a wry salute.

"Thanks for the advice but that's exactly what I'm afraid of."

"You know what they say about all work and no play, right?"

"If the play involves the Black Sheep, I'm sure Delmonte doesn't approve of it." Tori finished her drink. Her head was starting to swim.

"Good night, Lieutenant Ryan."

"Good night, Lieutenant Bishop." Dee matched her grin. "Sweet dreams."

 **XXX**

In spite of the whisky, Tori couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, thinking about the wonderful absurdity of her life in this rough place and the men who'd become an unexpectedly important part of it.

Especially one of them.

She didn't know why John Hutchinson wouldn't get out of her head but there he was, with those dark eyes and that rogue's grin, offering his easy friendship whether she wanted it or not.

Surprisingly clear headed, she got out of bed and switched on her lamp. She rummaged through her desk until she found the small sketch pad she'd bought in San Diego. It was one of the few personal items she'd brought with her. She hadn't had much time to draw since coming here but had made a few fast sketches that captured the framework of lines she'd found pleasing when they caught her eye. She'd filled several pages with this rudimentary work and needed to go back and flesh it out but not now.

Flipping to a fresh page, she picked up a charcoal pencil and sketched quickly, the vision clear in her mind's eye as it reformed on the paper. She smiled. She always smiled when she drew, as if the act of creating infused her with joy. She finished the first sketch and admired the power in the stark angles of it. She'd go back and build in details of texture and depth later.

Moving down the page, she started a second drawing. Totally different, equally powerful. She closed her eyes briefly. Sometimes she didn't know where the ideas came from, they just came and they wouldn't leave her alone until she captured them. She touched the tip of the pencil to the paper, smiling as her breath came a little faster, and let the image forming by her hand wrap its magic around her. It was pure imagination and all the more powerful for it.

 **XXX**

 **A few days later**

 **Vella La Cava, Navy Hospital**

 **0800 hours**

Tori heard the approaching aircraft as she stepped into the ward to begin her shift. She automatically checked her watch. Something was off. It was too early for the Black Sheep to go up. According to Dee, the day's mission wouldn't launch until 0900.

As her mind struggled to make sense of it, the eerie wail of the air raid siren ripped the morning air. Fear shot up her spine. She could hear the planes more clearly now. They were coming in from the north, swooping over the hospital. Not Corsairs. The sound of the engines was wrong. After two weeks on La Cava, she could identify aircraft without seeing them – from the Corsairs to the lumbering transport planes to the little L5s that brought brass visiting from Espritos or the occasional misplaced Statesider on a fact-finding tour.

She rushed to a window in time to see sleek silver shapes skimming the treetops. There was no mistaking the rising sun symbol painted on the fuselage and underside of the wings. A pair of Zeros swept past close enough Tori could count the kill flags on the nearest craft.

"Tori!" Dee burst in. "Help me push these beds away from the windows!" Laura Halvorson and Ellen Morgan were helping ambulatory patients into one of the hospital's interior rooms. Tori turned from the windows and kicked the brakes loose on the nearest bed. Its occupant, in traction with a fractured leg, smiled weakly.

"Hand me my rifle and wheel me outside, Lieutenant, and I'll given 'em what for!" he declared.

"You'll do no such thing," she said with a calm she didn't feel and pushed the bed to the center of the room. She looked at Dee. "They wouldn't attack a hospital, would they?"

"There's no telling what they'll do. They've hit the base twice before and never touched us but they've never come in this low, either." Dee's voice was grim. "With any luck, they're just being assholes and throwing their weight around."

Tori was aware how pathetically thin the layers of lathe and plaster protecting her were. She was no munitions expert but knew rounds from the enemy planes would cut through the hospital's wooden siding like a knife through butter. The sound of the engines faded and she let out her breath, only to catch it again when she heard the anti-aircraft guns throwing up volleys of ground fire from the base. Cold fingers wrapped her spine as she thought of John and Sergeant Micklin, the Black Sheep and all the other ground personnel, pinned down with nothing but canvas tents and foxholes for protection. There wouldn't have been enough time to get any of the planes off the line to fight back.

The minutes ticked by. Tori bit her lip.

"The raids never last long," Dee said, as if reading her mind. "Even if they send a full squadron, they just hit and run. It was only six planes this time."

"How often does this happen?"

"They've hit the island twice so far. It started right before you came here – always the 214's base, never the hospital. Casey says if they can force the base to evac, the hospital will have to go, too, and the Japanese will re-take the island. I guess Greg's got some kind of plan to find their staging area but he hasn't been able to act on it yet."

Three short blasts signaled the all clear and relief among nurses and patients was palpable. Lieutenant Commander Delmonte's strident voice cut through the room.

"Ryan! Bishop! Grab Morgan and Halvorson and get down there to see if anyone's been hurt. There'll be an ambulance right behind you."

Tori grabbed a medical supply bag and raced out the door behind Dee. Ellen and Laura piled into the jeep as Dee turned the engine over.

The base was in an even worse state of disarray than usual. As Dee steered the jeep past the tents, Tori could see the trail of damage left by the Japanese attack. The steps leading to the Sheep Pen were a splintered mess and one of the nearby tents leaned at a crazy angle, its support structure damaged and the canvas shredded to rags. Several small fires had erupted, including one near a plane where several oil drums were burning merrily. Tori heard men shouting about a punctured fuel line and yelling for fire extinguishers.

"Is anyone hurt?" Dee pulled the jeep to a halt as Greg surveyed the damage. Tori saw Kate taking pictures of a group of men battling the fires.

"We're fine." Greg sounded disgusted. "Not much more than a couple of strafing runs. I think Micklin winged one of them. There was a pretty good smoke trail when they headed out."

"I did more than wing him. He ain't gonna make it back wherever he came from." Micklin stomped over. "Ma'am." He acknowledged all four nurses with a collective tip of his cap. Then he took the cigar out of his mouth, inspected it and shoved it back between his teeth. He glared at Greg. "When are you and them college boys gonna do something about that band of yahoos? Now they're shootin' up my aircraft on the ground!"

Greg closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"I've got a plan but I've either got to be able to launch right after they hit or hold two birds back from the rest of the squadron if we're out on a mission. Right now we don't have anything to spare and we sure as hell couldn't have gotten off the line anyway this morning."

"You got plenty of birds you can hold back in that spare parts concession you got sittin' out there," Micklin snarled.

"That spare parts concession is our backup when Lard ignores requisitions," Greg snarled back.

The men glared at each other. Tori got the feeling someone might need medical attention before this was over. Behind her, Dee was conferring with the ambulance driver. Laura and Ellen were talking to Anderson and TJ a few yards away.

John joined the group. He was shirtless, smudged with dirt and sweat. He acknowledged Tori with a quick grin and she allowed herself a private smile, remembering Dee's advice the previous night. It was a nice thought, even if she had absolutely no intention of following it. Looking was safe. Touching wasn't.

"Came back to see if we need any more service?" His eyes sparkled. Before she could say anything, he continued, "Greg, that last pass hit the fuel tank on 442. I can patch it but I wouldn't trust her for more than a Sunday afternoon drive."

"That ain't all that's wrong," Micklin grumbled. "The carburetor in that thing's shot to hell. Needs a new one, like everything else around here. I can rebuild it for you," he shook his head, "but no guarantee it'll get ya back."

There was a marked increase in the volume of yelling and Tori looked up to see the mechanics abandon their fire extinguishers and follow Kate as she sprinted away from the still-burning oil drums. Flames that had been wandering along the ground jumped suddenly to the fuselage of the nearby aircraft. As Tori watched, a line of flickering steel blue tipped with orange licked greedily at the fuel dripping from number 442, engulfing the forward section of the plane. Within seconds, the punctured fuel tank ignited, exploding with a blast that shook the ground under her feet. A sheet of oily flame roiled skyward as the airframe lifted off the ground and canted sideways before crashing back to the earth.

John grabbed Tori's shoulders and spun her away from the explosion a split second before the concussion wave hit. She didn't have time to react. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, as the force slammed them against the hood of the jeep and his body fell hard over hers. Bits of flaming debris rained down around them with an oddly musical tinkle. Half-stunned, she gulped for breath. The stench of burned metal filled her lungs. Nearby, she heard Greg swearing with religious fervor.

"Are you okay?" John's lips were close enough to her ear she could feel their heat. So much for not touching. She wiggled. He didn't move. She wiggled again, harder. He chuckled.

"Get off me." Her voice was muffled. She was addressing his bicep.

"I'll take that as a yes." He straightened, pulling her up by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "Seriously, are you all right? Sorry I squashed you like that."

"I'm fine." She was irritated to hear her voice trembling. There had been nothing sexual about the encounter but his willingness to shield her body with his sent her mind spinning. Like Admiral Grier, he hadn't asked, just taken. Unlike Grier, he'd acted with her best interest in mind, then apologized for it. It was unsettling.

"Are you sure?" John eyed her suspiciously.

She straightened her jumpsuit, brushed a bit of falling ash off her sleeve and gave him what she hoped was a bright smile.

"Really, I'm fine. Thanks. That's two I owe you. You keep showing up at all the right times."

They stood, watching the plane burn. Tori realized John's arm was around her shoulders. She didn't step away. The pleasant heat of his fingers calmed the small tremors shaking through her. The ground crew charged back at the fire to keep it from spreading. Micklin took the cigar stub out of his mouth and stabbed it in the direction of the inferno.

"Major, you ain't gonna have to worry about fixin' that one no more," he said.

 **XXX**

Dwindling oil supplies.

New carburetors.

Old carburetors.

Rebuilt carburetors.

Cleaning up the mess left by the Japanese. Again.

Damned monkeys stealing his damned wrenches.

Hutch tried to keep his mind on the endless list of things he should be occupied with but she kept creeping back in. Dark blue eyes. Skin that smelled impossibly clean even when she was surrounded by dirty, sweaty men. The dusting of freckles that had popped up across her nose in the few short weeks she'd been here. The feel of her body under his as they were thrown against the jeep.

She was attractive beyond measure. Plenty of good looking nurses passed through the base but none of them had ever caught his eye like Tori Bishop. She reminded him of late summer – glowing with shades of dark gold and autumn rose.

What intrigued him even more was the fact she seemed completely uninterested in any of the Black Sheep. Girls over here went for pilots and that's just the way it worked. Romances sprang up over night and the parties involved were creative when it came to finding ways to spend time together, but Boyle's bet that she'd crack and tumble into someone's bed within two weeks had come and gone. He had it on good authority the boys' continued attempts at anything beyond casual friendship had been politely but firmly rebuffed.

Aside from the afternoon he'd given her a tour of the base, he'd only seen her sporadically. She came to the Sheep Pen for drinks occasionally with the other girls but the endless maintenance demanded by the 214's birds left him with little time for socializing. He'd managed to take a break once or twice for a quick beer when he knew she was there. His presence had always been rewarded by a flash of that dazzling smile when he caught her eye but they'd never gotten past the standard hello-how-are-you's. He figured she was probably that polite to everyone.

It didn't help that she was always surrounded by an entourage of nurses. He wasn't uncomfortable around the girls but dang, it would be nice just to talk to her alone. He had no reason to think she'd _want_ to talk to him alone but then again, he didn't think she had any reason not to, either. Casey reported via Dee that the tall, leggy, strawberry blonde from Grosse Pointe, Mich., took orders, worked hard and kept her nose clean. The quiet mystery of how someone with her background ended up serving in a front area intrigued him even more than her looks, which was saying quite a bit.

"Hey, Hutch! Give me a hand with this, will ya?"

He turned to see Bobby Anderson dragging the mangled remains of what, until an hour ago, had been a field stove, toward a pile of rubble destined for the camp dump.

He shoved thoughts of talking to Victoria Bishop, alone or not, out of his mind and went to help Anderson.

 **XXX**

 **The next day**

"Hey Greg, is something wrong with Meatball?"

Hutch pointed at the terrier, who was standing in the shade of the plane's wing, head down, panting.

The dog hadn't accompanied Greg to the line like he usually did, but had shown up a few minutes after Hutch, Micklin and the major began their daily conference about aircraft status. Initially, Meatball trotted along jauntily as the men moved from one plane to the next but he'd gradually gotten slower and slower, his tail drooping disconsolately. Now he wasn't moving at all, just standing stiffly, sides heaving.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Greg dropped to a knee and the dog staggered toward him.

"Probably ate something he shouldn't have," Micklin growled. "You gonna fuss over that mutt or you gonna tell me what you plan to do about Tojo using my aircraft for target practice."

Greg ignored Micklin. Hutch knelt in the dirt next to him and helped steady the dog, who was swaying drunkenly.

"You know anything about dogs?" Greg asked. "He's the first one I've ever had and he hasn't been sick a day since I flew him out of China."

Hutch put a hand on Meatball's back. The animal felt rigid under his touch, his breath coming in rapid gasps. The terrier took a few stumbling steps and collapsed. Both men caught the dog and eased him to the ground.

"Enough to know that ain't good." Hutch's voice reflected the worry on Greg's face. Although domestic pets were strictly forbidden on the base, Meatball's status as the squadron's mascot elevated him beyond regulations. Which was a good thing because the dog had a tendency attract trouble.

"I still say he ate something he shouldn't have. Probably just got a gut ache," Micklin advised.

An angry yell split the air.

"What the hell!" Jerry Bragg's voice carried all the way to the flight line. "When I get hold of the asshole who ate my cake, I'm gonna beat the living tar out of him! I was gonna share it with you guys but geez! Did you have to eat the whole damn thing?"

Hutch met Greg's eyes.

"The cake!" they said in unison.

One of Jerry's mother's famous chocolate layer cakes had arrived in the post just that morning. She'd sent several of them since the squadron had formed and although they got a little battered in transit, Jerry always shared them, slicing pieces of the dark, crumbly confection for all the boys' enjoyment.

"Chocolate's toxic to dogs," Hutch said. "Depends on the size of the dog and how much they eat but it can kill them."

"From the sound of it, he ate the whole thing," Greg muttered. "That was a big cake."

Meatball lay on his side in the dirt. His limbs twitched and his ribs rose and fell rapidly.

"Jerry's mom uses dark baking chocolate and a lot of it. He was telling me how she saved her ration coupons until she had enough. That stuff's the worst for dogs," Hutch said. "Meatball needs to get it out of his stomach ASAP."

"Good luck with that." Greg ran a hand through his hair. "This dog is a goat – he eats all kinds of trash and it never comes back up. How are you supposed to make a dog throw up if he doesn't want to?"

"Let's take him to the hospital," Hutch said. "Doc Reese was a farm kid, he might know what to do."

Greg gathered the dog into his arms and climbed into the nearby jeep. Hutch jumped into the driver's seat and within seconds, they sped out of the base.

"Damn fool dog." Micklin took off his cap, dusted it on his leg and put it back on. "Hope he's all right."

 **XXX**

Hutch pulled the jeep to a stop in front of the hospital and vaulted out to open the door for Greg. He was relieved to see Tori behind the desk at the nurses' station. He knew she liked the terrier and always made it a point to give him a scratching and kind word when she was at the base. The dog could be a gigantic pain in the ass and not all the girls liked him. His habit of stealing lingerie might have something to do with that.

"What happened?" Tori abandoned her paperwork and stepped quickly from behind the desk as Greg entered, carrying the dog's limp form. Her eyes lingered briefly on John and he had the sudden, awkward realization that nearly every time she saw him, he was half dressed and filthy. Then she re-focused on the dog.

"He ate a cake," Greg said.

"Bring him in here." Tori yanked a spare blanket off the foot of a nearby bed and moving quickly ahead of the men, threw it over an exam table. Greg laid the terrier on it.

"Is Doc Reese around? We hoped he'd know what to do," he said.

"He's on Espritos until tomorrow, some kind of conference." Tori's voice was distracted as she ran her hands over the distraught animal. Hutch was struck by how automatically she accepted the dog as a patient, never questioning the protocol of treating an animal in a facility for humans. He watched as she ran slender fingers over Meatball's head, checking eye reactivity and looking in his mouth.

"Do you know anything about dogs?" Hutch asked. "We had one when I was a kid but nothing like this ever happened."

"Grew up with them," Tori said, not taking her eyes off Meatball. "Mother's shelties, Father's Labradors, the hunt club's fox hounds." She pressed two fingers into the space under Meatball's front leg where it joined his body, her face a mask of concentration. Greg started to say something but she held up her hand for silence. Pulling her fingers out of the dog's armpit she said, "I don't know what his normal heart rate is but right now it's all over the place. Tell me again what he ate?"

"A chocolate cake," Hutch said. "A big one. Jerry's ma sent it to him."

"Has he vomited?" She touched Meatball's distended abdomen and the dog whimpered.

"No," Greg said. "This dog never vomits anything. You wouldn't believe the crap he eats and it never comes back up."

"It's going to this time." Tori turned to the cabinets behind her. She pulled out a brown glass bottle of hydrogen peroxide and rummaged through a drawer for a spoon. Turning to Meatball, she said, "Sorry, piglet, things are going to get worse before they get better."

Dee popped her head into the room.

"What's up?"

"Meatball had a dietary indiscretion. Can you find some activated charcoal and meet us outside? Thanks." She looked at Greg. "Carry him back out, please. This is gonna get messy."

Greg scooped Meatball off the table and both men followed Tori to a shady patch of grass.

"Hold him upright and open his mouth," she instructed, dropping to her knees and unscrewing the bottle cap. Hutch knelt and steadied the dog between his legs. Greg pried Meatball's jaws open so Tori could dribble several spoons full of hydrogen peroxide down his unresisting throat. The dog gave her a baleful look.

"What now?" Greg asked.

"We wait. I'll give him 10 minutes and if nothing happens, he gets another dose." Tori rocked back on her heels, eyes on Meatball. Hutch was struck by her compassion for the dog. Nurses, he thought, were truly something special.

It didn't take 10 minutes. As the trio sat, anxiously watching, Meatball began to drool. Then he staggered to his feet and started retching. With a monumental heave, he opened his jaws and brought up what had once been the pride and joy of Martha Bragg's kitchen. Tori smiled with grim satisfaction.

"Holy shit," Greg said.

"No wonder his belly hurt," Hutch said.

"Don't let him eat it again!" Tori yelped as Meatball eyed the deposit he'd just made on the grass. She and Hutch were closest and they lunged at the same time, nearly cracking skulls. They both grabbed the dog by the collar as he made an admirable attempt to recycle his forfeited prize. Struggling, they pulled him away but Meatball was stronger than he looked and reluctant to give up his ill-gotten gains. He anchored his hind paws on Tori's thigh and pushed off. She hung on grimly as she was dragged across Hutch's lap, knocking him flat on his back.

Hutch thought he heard Greg chuckling but had his hands so full – literally – of woman and dog that he didn't pay it much attention. Her scent filled his senses, that same rain-washed fragrance he'd noticed the day he shielded her from the explosion on the line. The soft heat of her body stretched over his took his mind off anything else. The dog was still lunging around like a maniac and Hutch decided Meatball could do whatever he wanted if it meant this moment wouldn't end.

Tori clearly had a different opinion.

"God blessed damned dog!" she spat between gritted teeth. At the very real risk of having several fingers broken, Hutch let go of Meatball's collar and his hands settled naturally on Tori's waist. She still had both hands on the terrier while Greg maneuvered to grab him without stepping in the remains of the cake. Hutch decided the most expedient way to resolve this was to roll her – and consequently, the dog – in the opposite direction.

"Forgive me for this," he said and wrapping his arms around what he hoped was her midsection, he rolled, flipping all three of them away from the undigested mess on the ground. Tori yelped but went with him, unresisting. Meatball was jerked off his feet and Greg grabbed him and drug him safely out of the way. Hutch came to rest partially atop Tori, recognizing the absurdity of the situation but reluctant to remedy it. They both lay, not moving, for a moment.

"Get off me, sergeant."

He thought he heard a tremor of amusement in her voice.

"I think you told me the same thing a few days ago. Ma'am."

He was rewarded to see the corners of her mouth twitch and he rolled up on his elbows, still pinning her under him.

"You really don't listen, do you? Stop calling me ma'am."

"You're not in any position to be giving orders. Ma'am."

They were both laughing now. Dee appeared with a bottle of activated charcoal. She raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything. Hutch rolled to one side and helped her up.

"This is becoming a habit with you," Tori said under her breath, brushing grass and dirt off her jumpsuit.

"Uh-huh." He grinned at her, taking in her disheveled hair and clothes. The girl was gorgeous. She just couldn't help it.

Dee shook out two tablets and handed them to Tori.

"One more indignity," Tori said to the dog, who was sitting quietly by Greg, looking for all the world like nothing had happened. She knelt and deftly squeezed Meatball's jaws open, then popped the tablets into his throat, pushing them down with her index finger to make sure he swallowed them. She wiped her hand on her leg, apparently untroubled by dog slobber. Hutch thought that was a good quality in a girl.

"That should prevent his body from absorbing any more of the theobromine. Keep him quiet this afternoon and make sure he has plenty of water to drink. I don't think there's much else I can do for him." She stroked the dog's head. Meatball's tail thumped happily. Hutch watched as she lifted the dog's lips to check his mouth and again pressed her fingers under his leg to find a pulse.

"His mucous membranes are a good color and his heart rate is a lot steadier," she said. "He's a tough guy, he'll be fine."

"Thanks, Tori," Greg said, ruffling the dog's ears. "He'd do it again in a heartbeat if he got the chance."

The three of them sat in the shade, watching Meatball, who was sprawled on his side in the grass. His breathing was already coming easier.

"How'd you know to do that?" Hutch asked.

"We always had shelties in the house at home," Tori said. "Shetland sheepdogs. My mother shows them and has a few home-bred champions. Wonderful dogs but they'll eat anything that isn't red hot or nailed down. Caper ate an entire box of Valentine chocolates one year and Tapestry ate half the petit fours at my sister's bridal shower." She rolled her eyes at the memory. "We had to make them vomit both times. Not pretty but they weren't going to let go of their stolen goodies any other way. Hydrogen peroxide usually does it. You can use salt or mustard on the back of the tongue in a pinch."

"I'll remember that." Greg glared at his dog, who had rolled onto his back and was waving his paws in the air.

"Come here, sweetie." Tori patted her leg. Meatball climbed into her lap and snuggled his head against her breast. Hutch swore the dog was smiling.

They sat in the shade, chatting about nothing, until Greg looked at his watch and said they'd better get back before Micklin blew a gasket. Hutch gave Tori a hand up and Meatball jogged steadily over to leap into the jeep. She followed him and rubbed the dog's ears.

"Behave yourself," she said and kissed him lightly on the muzzle. Meatball seemed to have forgiven her for the earlier indignities. His tongue swiped over her face and she laughed. Hutch thought she looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen her, the afternoon sunshine bronzing her cheeks with color and the breeze lifting her hair. And any girl who'd let a dog lick her face couldn't be that high maintenance, could she?

As the jeep bounced along the rutted track leading back to the base, Greg gave him a calculating look.

"Never thought I'd say this but that girl made waiting for a dog to vomit worthwhile."

"Uh-huh." Hutch wondered where this was going. Unlike the other Black Sheep, Greg made it a point not to get involved in the men's romantic endeavors. Unless it was to settle a feud over a girl or knock some sense into someone, it was unusual for him to express an opinion on the boys' choices of partners - past, current or prospective.

"The two of you keep running into each other. Maybe you should ask her out."

"Me and her? We got nothing in common, Pappy," Hutch said practically. It wasn't that the thought hadn't crossed his mind. He just hadn't allowed it to stay long enough to take root.

Greg shrugged.

"And you think Kate and I do?" He just chuckled. "Any girl who'll wrestle a bull terrier to the ground is worth a second look."

"Hell, Greg, I don't have time for a girl. You know that."

The older man gave him a measured blue gaze.

"When something like that comes along, you find the time."

In the back of the jeep, Meatball woofed his approval.

Great, Hutch thought. Now even the dog was playing Cupid.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Keep 'em flying, boys**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

 **2000 hours**

The day's mail was waiting on his bunk when Hutch got back from the showers. A copy of the Sunday edition of _The Detroit Free Press_ had arrived along with a letter from his mother. She'd mailed them in a large envelope that looked somewhat worse the wear for its journey. He shook the newspaper open. It was outdated but a glance at the front page made it clear why Maureen Hutchinson had sent it.

The story above the fold carried K.C. Cameron's byline and several of her photos. He grinned as he skimmed it. Kate was getting the Black Sheep a lot of good press and it helped loosen Colonel Lard's stranglehold on the unit's supply line. They were still flying on a wing and a prayer half the time but every little bit helped. Lard couldn't cut them off completely when the Stateside papers were playing them up as the hottest thing in the Southwest Pacific, thanks to Kate's coverage.

The story below the fold was about the plant in Flint where his father worked. His mother could have cut out the stories and just sent the clippings but she knew he liked getting the whole paper now and then. All the boys shared the hometown papers sent by their loved ones. It helped them stay connected to what they were fighting for.

Hutch pulled on a clean T-shirt and trousers, ran fingers through his damp hair, then grabbed the paper and headed for the Sheep Pen. The boys loved reading Kate's stories and appreciated her ability to spin even their most renegade behavior with a patriotic twist. Then they'd glean through the entire issue, from the serial romances to the funny pages. It was as close to home as any of them were likely to get for a while.

 **XXX**

The boys had been on a hot streak lately and the inhabitants of the Sheep Pen were in roaring high spirits. Kills were mounting and damage was minimal. There were still never-ending maintenance issues but in general, the boys were bringing their birds home in one piece, which was the only reason Hutch could steal away for a few hours' break. He looked around the interior of the building but none of the nurses were there. One long legged, strawberry blonde in particular wasn't there. That figured. Their schedules rarely meshed.

"Where's your girl?" Jim handed him a beer and Hutch leaned back with his elbows against the bar.

"I don't have a girl. Where's yours?"

"You know damn well she's on Rendova. And don't act like you don't have a girl." Jim chuckled. "That tall, blonde drink of water's got your name all over her."

Hutch scowled, skepticism clear across his dark features.

"You fall and hit your head?"

Jim started ticking off points on his fingers.

"One. You had her complete attention five minutes after she landed on this rock. Two. You came in here with her on your arm that first night. Three. She came all the way to the line to see you the other day. Four. The two of you sure looked like you were getting friendly after that bird blew up. Five. Greg told me the you and her made quite a team when Meatball got sick." He ran out of fingers and raised his other hand. "Aaaaand six. She asked about you this morning when I was at the hospital with TJ." He raised his eyebrows and let a grin spread across his face. "You got a girl."

"I'd agree with you but there's no sense in both of us being wrong," Hutch said drily. Even though Jim and Sarah seemed to have a pretty strong long distance relationship, he wasn't sure if he was ready to start believing the Texan when it came to women.

He sipped his beer. Tori was no more his girl than the man in the moon. And for the love of God, he thought, were the boys watching his every move now? He understood how Greg must have felt when he started making his interest known in Kate. Only _he_ wasn't making his interest known in anybody. Oh sure, he'd thought about it but he was pretty sure every other guy on the base had, too.

"Ooooh, you must be talking about Vic-tor-i-a." TJ stretched the name into four syllables as he sauntered across the room.

"She's not my girl," Hutch said stubbornly. "I just happened to run into her outside that first night. She came out to make sure Micklin hadn't wrecked her stitching job the other day, not to see me. She was here for medical aid after the raid yesterday and she just happened to be on duty and knew what to do when Meatball ate Jerry's cake," he finished lamely. He hadn't realized she'd asked about him when the boys were at the hospital that morning.

He took his beer and sat down at one of the tables. Jim and TJ followed him like dogs intent on their quarry.

"Uh-huh." Jim looked like he didn't believe a word of it. "If I remember, she put you back together, too, not just Micklin." He pointed at Hutch's now healed fingers.

Tori's neat white bandage had lasted until he found himself up to his elbows in the hydraulic cylinders that controlled the cowl flaps on Anderson's bird. They leaked like a sieve on a good day. It hadn't been a good day. To his credit, when he'd been forced to abandon Tori's oil-soaked bandages, he'd re-wrapped his fingers with electrical tape for a few days. Not as classy as her job but he had to admit, immobilizing them made them feel a lot better. He'd even bothered to ice them a few more times, thanks to her suggestion. He usually just worked around the pain until they healed. No one had ever taken the time to suggest otherwise before.

"She was just doing her job," he said. "Nurses are like that, you know."

"We know exactly what nurses are like," TJ said agreeably. "And you do to, even if it's been a while. Maybe Vic-tor-i-a could change that."

"I don't have time for a girl," Hutch protested. "And I sure as hell don't have time for a girl like that."

"Nothing wrong with her that I can see," TJ said. "And I've made it a point to look."

"Girls like that don't – "

"Girls like _what_?" Jim interrupted. "You keep saying that but she's no different than Sarah or Kate or Dee."

"Yeah," TJ agreed. "They're all put together the same way. Thank God. I don't think I could handle it if each one was built different. They're hard enough to figure out the way it is."

"I'm not talking about how they're put together! That girl is Edward Bishop's daughter," Hutch said. He shook his head resolutely. "She's above my pay grade." Not that it stopped him from enjoying her company every time fate threw them together, he realized, but if it took an air raid or a sick dog for the two of them to see one another, an ongoing relationship didn't look hopeful.

"How do you know? Look at Greg and Kate. None of us saw that coming." Jim grinned.

"And none of us ever thought Sarah would give you the time of day, Gutterman," TJ said, carefully stepping out of Jim's range. "The possibilities are endless. Come on, think about it."

Hutch had thought about. He'd thought about it more than he had any business doing.

"Thinking about it's all that's likely to happen," he said, taking a pull on his beer. He shook the paper open, effectively putting an end to the conversation. He read Kate's story, which made the Black Sheep sound good. He read the story about the GM plant, which made his old man sound good.

There were stories about the war in Europe. A new wonder drug called penicillin was saving lives. Rationing had increased in the States, with restrictions on coffee and sugar. Glenn Miller's new tune, "In The Mood," was an instant hit. He glanced through the remaining pages and dropped _The Free Press_ on the table.

"You done with that?" Jim indicated the newspaper.

"Yeah, go ahead." Hutch pushed it toward him. Jim leaned his chair back on two legs and propped his boots on the table. With the paper in both hands, he affected a pose of leisurely enlightenment as he read bits and pieces of stories out loud. Hutch waited for him to start in again about Tori but he didn't.

His thoughts drifted back to the brief interludes they'd shared. He remembered the tension in her body the afternoon she treated his hand. Yeah, he'd been coming onto her but hell, he hadn't been coming on _that_ strong, had he? He couldn't pin it down. It had been brief but definite, like steel bars slamming down around her with finality, then he'd felt them dissolve minutes later as if she'd forced herself to relax. Or decided he wasn't a threat, he realized suddenly. A threat? Him? He didn't think he was the threatening type.

When the plane blew up and he threw her onto the jeep, she hadn't fought him at all. Granted, he hadn't given her much of a chance. Still, he thought that kind of treatment might have justified an indignant protest at the least or a slap across the face at the worst but she hadn't said anything. He'd had his hands all over her the afternoon when Meatball was dragging them around. She'd probably never noticed, he thought, since she'd been so focused on the dog. Women. He would never understand them. TJ was right. The physical aspect of the feminine form was the least of it.

"Hey, look at this!" Jim rocked his chair forward with a thump and jabbed his index finger at a spot on the page.

Hutch leaned over and read, " _Miss Beatrice Crenshaw spent the weekend in Cedar Ridge where she attended the wedding of her cousin, Miss Tilde O'Hara to Mr. Oliver Thorndike of Mount Pleasant. She reports the bride's chosen colors of indigo and ivory created a beautiful palette_ \- what the hell, Jim, you're reading society news now?"

"No, not that!" Jim tapped the page impatiently. "This!" Hutch looked again and the words jumped out at him from the newsprint.

" _Bishop – St. Clair wedding off_ ," he read slowly. _"It is with much regret Mr. and Mrs. Edward Bishop, Grosse Pointe, note the broken engagement of their daughter, Miss Victoria Bishop, to Mr. Preston St. Clair III. Word has it the couple parted due to irreconcilable differences when Miss Bishop joined the Navy Nursing Corps a number of weeks ago. She has since volunteered for duty in the South Pacific theatre of operations, ensuring our valiant fighting men receive the highest level of medical care possible."_

"That's your Victoria!" Jim hooted. " _Ensuring our valiant fighting men receive the highest degree of medical care possible_ along with a smoking hot body for your enjoyment. If you'd get busy and enjoy it!"

"She's not mine," Hutch muttered, trying to get a grip on the odd sensations coursing through his gut.

"She's sure as hell not anyone else's either," Jim pointed out. "Especially not Mr. Preston St. Clair the Third's."

"I don't know what you're waiting for – ask her out." TJ spread his arms in exasperation. "Bring her here for drinks, take her for a walk on the beach, go parking on the overlook. You have a tent to yourself so there's no reason you couldn't - "

"Whoa." Hutch threw his hands up. "You're assuming she'd say yes."

"Why wouldn't she?" TJ regarded him appraisingly. "You clean up pretty well, when you bother. You might want to shave more often though."" He shrugged. "Or maybe she likes her guys a little scruffy looking."

Hutch set the beer bottle down with finality.

"Girls like that are too high maintenance." Even as he said it, he saw her rolling on the ground with Meatball, the dog's well-being her sole focus. _Nothing high maintenance about that_ , a little voice in his head said.

"How do you know? This is a front area – she wouldn't have volunteered to come out here if she couldn't part with her six-hundred thread-count sheets, ya know," TJ persisted.

"She's not gonna spend time with a guy who has grease under his nails."

"That's what they make scrub brushes for."

Hutch was running out of excuses and he knew it.

"Looks can be deceiving," another voice interjected. Hutch looked up to see Greg pull out a chair.

"Remember Meatball knocking Kate on her butt as soon as she got off the plane? I thought the shit was gonna hit the fan – I mean, she's sitting there in the dirt, mud all over her clothes, that damned dog sitting on her." He shook his head. "I figured she was going to chew my ass up one side and down the other but she just laughed. It didn't bother her at all." He shrugged. "And you know where it went from there."

"Thanks, Pappy." Hutch had been there that night and chuckled at the memory. "But Tori doesn't strike me as the type of girl who'd make time with a mechanic."

"Apparently she didn't want to make time with Percival St. Charles the Fourth or whatever his name was, either," Jim pointed out helpfully.

"You'll never know if you don't ask her, will you?" Greg stood. "If you men will excuse me, I hear a nightcap calling."

"We got Scotch here." TJ raised a bottle.

"Nothing personal," Greg returned, "but so does Kate and her legs are nicer."

Their CO had barely left the building before TJ started in again.

"The way I see this, you got two options. Make a move! Sweep her off her feet. Girls like that. Or if you're into the romance and seduction thing, I guess you've got time. Casey told me Dee said Victoria volunteered for a long-term assignment here, not the usual six-week rotation. She's not going anywhere."

"Stop pulling my leg." Hutch was skeptical. "I bet with her family connections she could have been based anywhere she wanted - why come out here? And why stay longer than she has to? I don't even understand why she joined the Navy in the first place." He waved a hand at the paper. "It sounds like she was all set to get married."

"Doesn't matter why. She dumped him. She's here, you're here. It would be good for you to enjoy some female company."

"What are you now, the morale officer?"

"Maybe I am," TJ rejoined. "What have you got to lose?"

What did he have to lose? Besides his pride when she shot him down? After his last fiasco of something that couldn't even be called a relationship he'd sworn not to get involved with any girl stationed on the same island. It was just asking for trouble. Maybe a fling on Espritos or Arabella during R and R. One night. Two nights max, no strings attached. He didn't know what was worse - being snubbed or stalked. Cathy had run into him a few days after an evening's dalliance and acted like she'd never seen him before. Susan tried to drag him to the altar. There didn't seem to be a happy medium. _Women_.

"That's easy for you to say – you're out with a different girl every weekend."

"That's because he hasn't really figured out how women are put together." Jim chuckled. "And none of them are willing to come back to give him instructions."

"Screw you," TJ said amiably and changed the subject.

Hutch thought about Greg, who was undoubtedly enjoying his nightcap with one of one of the prettiest, smartest, toughest girls he'd ever met. Greg had met his match the day Kate Cameron walked off that transport, he mused, and the entire unit had enjoyed watching it play out. It would be nice to find a girl and have what they had – not just the sex, although he wouldn't argue with that either – but the quiet understanding they shared. He'd seen them just look at one another and speak volumes without a word. Relationships like that didn't come around every day and all too often, girls who were attractive were little else. Finding a girl who could back it up with personality and brains was a rare thing, indeed. He didn't doubt Tori had both. He finished his beer and bid the occupants of the Sheep Pen goodnight.

As he walked through the tropical evening, TJ's words kept echoing in his mind.

" _What have you got to lose?"_

Would she give him the time of day beyond exchanging pleasantries and wrestling dogs? The girls he'd dated here – slept with, he amended, there'd been precious little dating involved – tended to be rather, well, plain janes. Certainly not awful in the looks department and more than willing in the dark, which tended to balance out any aesthetic failings, but not a knockout like Tori. Not to be superficial, but girls like her could take their pick of the men and they knew it.

He didn't have Greg's piercing blue eyes or TJ's boy next door charm or Jim's unassailable ego but he didn't think he was completely ill-favored, either. Two years of turning wrenches in the Corps had built a lot of muscle and hours spent working with other sweaty, dirty men left him with a distinct appreciation for the fairer sex. A woman's body was something to be treated with respect, even when it was little more than just a night's convenience.

He enjoyed the Black Sheep's stories over coffee in the morning as much as any of them but knew the couplings that spawned them were little more than physical release for both parties. Respect and honor didn't last much beyond the sunrise. Once morning came, it was bragging rights in the mess tent and looking ahead to the next conquest.

Hutch knew the boys' typically shallow relationships were their way of coping with the pressure of life out here and he'd been as guilty of it as any of them when he got the chance. He realized, with a jolt, that wasn't what he wanted from Tori. At least not initially, he amended hastily. He wasn't kidding himself, he'd love to explore that beautiful body but first he just wanted to spend some time alone with her that didn't involve some kind of chaos and bleeding.

Sweet Jesus. He was going to have to ask her out and he had no idea how to make that happen.

 **XXX**

 **Several days later**

 **Vella La Cava, Naval Hospital**

 **1900 hours**

"Go tell them visiting hours are over," Dee said absently. "If Delmonte catches them in here this late she'll have a piece out of all our butts."

Tori looked down the ward where John and Greg were sitting next to Charlie Richardson's bed. Richardson was a scrawny little mechanic who looked like he was about 14 years old but Tori knew he possessed a degree of strength disproportionate to his skinny frame. John brought him in two days ago, shivering and delirious with malaria.

Richardson was recovering well and Tori thought it was in no small part due to the number of visitors who came to express concern and offer encouragement. Every pilot from the 214 had been there at one time or another. Those boys took their mechanics seriously. When Greg came in that evening, she'd noticed with a pleasant jolt John was with him. He'd managed to put on a shirt this time but it hung open, unbuttoned. Tori thought the subtle hint of shadow over muscle might be even worse than blatant bare skin. John flashed her a smile as he passed the nurses' station where she and Dee were plowing through Delmonte's quarterly reports. She'd returned the smile and had an awful time getting her mind back on the reports.

"And if they have any alcohol, which I imagine they do, take it away from them," Dee added with a resigned sigh. "They know they can't have that in here."

"They might know it but that doesn't stop them," Tori said. She'd tried relieving a band of Black Sheep of a bottle of Scotch they'd smuggled in for a couple of wounded comrades a few days ago. She'd never seen alcohol disappear so quickly. The men had dispatched it in a spirited game of keep-away and by the time she got her hands on the bottle, it was empty.

Even as the words left her lips, she saw the flash of lamplight on a silver flask as Greg passed it to Charlie, who took a swallow and passed it to John. Shaking her head, she straightened her shoulders and headed toward the men.

 **XXX**

At the sound of quiet footfalls, Hutch looked up to see Tori walking down the aisle between the rows of beds. He knew she was going to kick them out but he didn't care. He would have let her boot him all the way back to the base if it meant being around her for just a few more minutes. The girl made a Navy-issue jumpsuit look like high fashion and he wondered if she had any idea how good she looked. Even in practical sturdy shoes she moved with a grace that was seductive and elegant at the same time. Her hair waved in the humidity, the cowlick over her right temple curling with a defiance that matched the set of her mouth.

"Gentlemen," she said in that honey-over-steel voice that every single nurse he'd ever met seemed to posses, "visiting hours are over. You can trust us to take care of Corporal Richardson one more night. I think you can have him back tomorrow if he keeps improving." She squeezed Richardson's shoulder and the boy's face lit up.

"Oh, I'm much better now, ma'am," he assured her. "I reckon you've got me ready to give 110 percent."

"One more round and we'll hit the road." Greg passed a silver flask to the boy.

"Absolutely not, Major!" Tori sounded offended but Hutch saw the sparkle in her eye. "Quinine and Scotch do not mix." She plucked the flask out of Richardson's hand before he had a chance to take a drink. He looked disappointed. She screwed the lid back on. Greg, who was closest, reached out to take it.

"Hutch is going to want that back, it's a family heirloom, right?" Greg winked at him.

"That's not mine," Hutch started to protest.

"Uh-uh. That's what they all say." Tori slipped it into a side pocket of her jumpsuit. "If I give it to you now, you'll just find a way to smuggle it back in here for him before you leave."

"Oh come on, Tori." Greg's voice was teasing. "We wouldn't do that. Give it back and we'll get out of here." He held out his hand.

Hutch watched as Greg turned the full effect of his smile on her. It was the kind of smile that radiated from mouth and eyes both and Hutch knew it was famous for its ability to bend women to Greg's will.

Only it wasn't working.

Tori crossed her arms and returned the smile in kind. Hutch thought when it came to hot blue wattage, she might be able to beat Greg at his own game. God knew it was having an impact on him. Greg's eyes had a green cast to them but Tori's were dark blue, like the indigo of the sky before a thunderstorm. He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the battle of wills and unable to stop the smile spreading across his face as the unspoken war of authority continued. Until now, Kate was the only girl he'd met who could stand up to Greg's scrutiny without backing down. Then Tori transferred that molten blue gaze to him and he felt something low in his belly do a lazy flip. When she looked at him like that, he started thinking he should take Wiley and Gutterman's advice and ask her out. Even if she flamed him, it would be worth it.

"I'll just hang on to your family heirloom for safe keeping, John," she said, patting her pocket. "I think you can make it back to the base without dying of thirst." She was smiling but the dismissal was clear. "Good night, gentlemen."

"Lieutenant." Greg dipped his head, the smile still firmly in place, not conceding defeat.

"Major." Her reciprocating smile grew wider, sensing victory.

"G'night, Tori." Hutch winked and was rewarded to see a slight blush rise in her cheeks.

"Good night, John."

Greg pulled the jeep away from the hospital. There was no mistaking the smug grin on his face. Hutch looked at him, puzzled.

"What was that all about? That was your flask, not mine."

"Uh-huh. But Tori doesn't know that. Now she has to return it and since she thinks it's yours, she'll come find you. Really, you need more practice at this."

Hutch groaned and slumped in the seat as Greg accelerated through the dusk. Was everyone in this outfit out playing Cupid? He didn't know if he was appreciative or terrified.

 **XXX**

 **A few days later**

 **Vella La Cava, Navy Hospital**

 **0800 hours**

Tori had just started one of Delmonte's routine and mind-numbing inventory sessions when she heard the front door of the hospital open and close. Light footfalls crossed the boards and Kate's head popped through the door to the walk-in supply closet.

"Hi, Tor."

"Hi, Katie."

"Delmonte's not around, is she?" The correspondent looked over her shoulder.

"No. I think she's hiding in her office, drinking bourbon, while we do all the work. Do you need her for something?"

"Oh lord no!" Kate came closer and Tori noticed a gauze bandage around her leg, just below her knee. "What about Dee?"

"She's doing rounds with Doc Reese. All the beds are full this morning so it'll be a bit before she's done." Tori paused. "Is there anything I can help with?"

Kate grimaced.

"I cut my leg. I think it might need stitched."

"I can take a look."

"Great." She sounded relieved. "I understand you sewed up Micklin and you both lived to tell about it. That says a lot."

"I had help."

"Heard that, too. Didn't know mechanics and pilots were doubling as orderlies now."

"Desperate times," Tori said. "Come in here."

She led Kate into one of the private exam rooms and the correspondent swung up on the table.

"I just want to get it taken care of and get back to the base. I've got a ton of film to develop before the boys get home from today's mission. The less help I have in the darkroom, the better."

Tori laughed. She could appreciate that. TJ and Bobby Boyle had spent the better part of the previous afternoon helping with some structural repairs in the nurses' dorm. She, Dee and Laura had done most of the work while the boys flirted and generally caused trouble.

"What happened?" Tori asked as Kate began unwrapping the gauze. Fresh blood stained the inner layers.

"Cut it on a shell, messing around on the beach last night." Tori saw color come up in her cheeks. "I cleaned it when we – I – got back to the base but it was still bleeding this morning and it's deeper than I thought."

"Let's have a look."

Kate propped her leg up while Tori washed her hands.

"You said you cut it on a shell?" She gently inspected the wound.

"Yeah. Those things can have sharp edges." Kate didn't elaborate and Tori got the impression there was more to the story than she was telling.

"You're right, it's deep enough to need a few sutures. Let me give you a local, then I'll make sure there's no sand or debris in there. Are you up to date with your tetanus booster?"

Kate nodded the affirmative.

Dee entered the room and set a stack of charts on the counter.

"Hey Kate." Turning, she saw Tori laying out suture material on a tray. "What's she done this time?"

"Sliced her leg open on a shell, below the patella, deep but clean," Tori said. She looked at Kate. "You aren't going to pass out when I stick you with this needle are you?"

"No. I'm fine with needles."

"Below the patella?" Dee's brows drew up in question and she leaned forward to inspect the wound. She grinned. "That's odd, Katie. Most of the shell and coral injuries we see are on the feet – personnel walking barefoot where they shouldn't be."

Kate didn't say anything as Tori injected the local anesthetic. In fact, Tori thought she was being deliberately vague. She was curious, too, but didn't think her and Kate's fledgling friendship entitled her to pry into personal matters. Dee, on the other hand, had no such reservation.

"How'd you get a shell cut below your knee?" she asked bluntly. Her tone was suspicious.

Kate narrowed her eyes.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does." Dee beamed. "We're trained medical professionals and I think it's in the best interest of your treatment to tell us how this happened. In detail." She affected an air of stern professionalism. "Right, Lieutenant Bishop?"

Tori got into the spirit.

"Absolutely, Lieutenant Ryan." She widened her eyes in what she hoped was a look of innocence. "I need to advance my knowledge of injuries commonly sustained by personnel on this base so I can be prepared to treat them." She grinned wickedly. "And I've never seen anything like this before."

"I hate both of you," Kate grumbled but there was an undercurrent of resigned humor in her voice. "I should have just waited for Doc Reese. He doesn't ask impertinent questions. Pretty sure he doesn't want to hear the answers."

"But we do." Dee was beside herself with laughter now.

Kate blew out a breath and glanced toward the hallway. Reese was in conversation with Laura on the other side of the ward. She sighed.

"All right. Greg and I were messing around on the beach."

"Mmmmm, thought as much, go on." Dee folded her arms and leaned against the wall, eyes sparkling.

"That's enough. You figure it out." Kate watched impassively as Tori irrigated the cut with hydrogen peroxide.

"I can't." Dee laid her index finger on her chin and affected an air of deep thought. "No idea what you could have been doing."

"Think about it." Kate glared at her.

"No. I just can't imagine. You'll have to explain. Details, please."

Tori kept her eyes on what she was doing. It was apparent both Kate and Dee were comfortable including her in this conversation but she wasn't used to the girls' relaxed attitude about something of a clearly sexual nature.

"Seriously, Kate - I don't understand how you cut your leg. Didn't you guys have a blanket? I mean . . . how . . .?"

"No." Kate looked sideways at Dee. "It was kind of a . . . um . . . spontaneous moment. We hadn't taken a blanket. Or anything else. If you know what I mean."

"I don't." Dee wasn't going to let it go.

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" Kate rolled her eyes.

"Uh-huh." Dee's grin was happily unrepentant.

"You're a bitch. I don't know what Casey sees in you."

"I want to hear you say it."

Kate glared. The color was high in her cheeks now but Tori saw the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

"I was on my knees. Happy now?"

Tori nearly dropped the peroxide. She just wasn't used to the girls' casually forthright approach when it came to talking about their physical relationships. It wasn't like oral sex was taboo. As long as it was between consenting adults, nothing out here was taboo.

"Not nearly as happy as Greg was, I bet." Dee laughed out loud.

"Oh stop it." Kate was laughing, too. "Don't act so innocent. It's nothing you haven't done."

"I think I'd notice if I got my leg cut open while I was doing it."

"I was pre-occupied."

"I bet you were."

Tori strung sutures and swabbed Kate's leg with disinfectant.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yes. Just don't let Ryan here get hold of me. She'll interrogate me for details."

"Not if you'd just tell us in the first place," Dee said. "There are all kinds of things you could tell us. Like - "

"I'm not telling you anything." Kate said with finality and crossed her arms over her chest.

It only took three stitches to close the cut and Tori made quick work of it. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear more or not. It was another one of those things the nurses at Bethesda had never talked about. Serving in a front area had a way of knocking away the gauzy subtleties of physical attraction to reveal men's and women's expressions of love – or lust - in crystal focus. She didn't have anything to add to the conversation, in any case. Her forays into that area had been infrequent. It was hard to work up any enthusiasm once she realized Preston had no intention of returning the favor.

"You know the drill. Keep that clean and dry. Don't go swimming for at least a week," she said, tying off a new bandage.

"And," Dee deadpanned, "stay off your knees."

"That does it. Next time I need medical attention, I'm asking for Tori. She won't give me the third degree."

"I might. I learned a lot this morning." Tori's grin was teasing. "I'd love to hear more about what goes on at the beach."

"Hook up with one of those boys and you'll learn it firsthand." Kate slid off the table. "There's no privacy around this place. You get involved with one of those guys and the damned spotlight goes on. All of a sudden, everyone thinks they have a right to know what you're doing." She glared at Dee. "The beach is about the only place you can find any privacy." She paused, a wicked grin spreading over her face. "So what's going on between you and Hutch?"

"Nothing!" Tori's response came a little too quickly, even to her own ears. Well, there wasn't. Was there?

"Mmmmm," Kate said. "Looked like you were enjoying his company the other day in the Sheep Pen. Greg said the boys have been giving him a hard time about asking you out. Has he?"

"I haven't seen him for a few days." Tori tried changing the subject. "How's Meatball doing?"

Kate changed it back.

"He's fine, and Greg's really, really grateful, by the way, but he said Hutch can't keep his eyes off you whenever you're around."

Tori bit the inside of her cheek, willing the heat not to flood her face, remembering his hand, warm and rough and dirty over hers, his arms around her after the air raid, offering security and protection without even a hint of anything else, rolling on the ground with him as they wrestled Meatball. The truth of the matter was, she couldn't keep her eyes off him, either.

"We're just . . ." she paused, uncertain, "friends," she finished lamely.

"That's the best place to start." Kate winked and left.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Another day, another air raid**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 H.Q.**

 **1600 hours**

When her shift ended, Tori changed into shorts and a T-shirt, pocketed the silver flask she'd captured when John and Greg came to visit Corporal Richardson at the hospital and headed to the 214.

Whistles and friendly cat calls greeted her as she drove through the base. She returned them with a cheerful wave but didn't stop until she reached the mechanics' shed. Kate was there, perched atop an overturned crate, scribbling madly in a notebook while John lounged against the work bench. He was shirtless. Again. Tori realized she was going to be disappointed if he ever had an epiphany about his wardrobe choices.

"So you're saying if the engine doesn't catch right away, a pilot gets about three tries before the starter overheats and that means a 20-minute stand down to cool off?" Kate questioned. "That kind of delay could wreck a mission schedule."

"You got it. Half the time, we start the boys' birds before they ever get to the line. We know which ones have bad starters, that's most of them, and – hey, Tori." John looked up as she picked her way through the jumble of empty parts crates and discarded bits of broken equipment that littered the ground.

Kate flipped her notebook shut.

"Thanks. I'll think that's all I need for this part of the story. I'll be back if I have more questions."

"Sure. You know where to find me."

"Hutchinson!" Micklin bawled from somewhere down the line. "If you're done giving interviews for the press, I could use a hand out here."

John grinned at Kate, then at Tori. "He loves it when she comes out here, he really does. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." The latter directive was clearly addressed to her as he turned and loped off.

Tori watched him go, admiring the clean lines of his bare back.

"Friends or not, if that doesn't give you sweet dreams, there's something wrong with you," Kate said quietly.

Tori blushed, thinking of their conversation as she'd treated Kate's injured leg earlier that day. Sweet dreams. Yeah. That was one way to describe them.

"You know, I practically lived out here my first week on the base," Kate mused.

"Here?" Tori glanced around the shed, taking in the array of scattered tools and disembodied aircraft parts.

"Yeah. Hutch and Micklin helped me tremendously with my first story. They talked to me for hours." Kate pushed sweaty hair off her forehead. "Greg didn't trust me any further than he could throw me back then. I was desperate to make that first story count."

"Was that the one about the supply line issues? And the beer can patches? I read that!" Tori said. "I'd just been stationed at Bethesda and thought your stories were incredible. I used to dream about what it would be like to be stationed in a front area. I mean, you were right here, living it."

Kate gathered her ever-present camera. She jerked her head to the left where Hutch was returning. "I'm guessing your dreams might be a little more fun now."

"It's not like that!" Tori hissed.

Kate shrugged.

"Bet it could be. Come on, Tor, these guys aren't choir boys. When I came out here, Dee told me to enjoy the local scenery. I ended up enjoying it more than I expected . . ." She looked down at her bandaged leg, then back at Tori and both girls dissolved in helpless giggles. Kate composed herself. "Okay, I gotta go. See you later."

Tori hoped her face did not reflect anything that was going through her mind as John stepped back into the quasi shade. She noticed sweat beading on his chest, running in rivulets through the dark hair. She said the first thing that came to mind.

"Do you have something against shirts? Of all the times I've seen you, I think you've only been wearing one twice."

"You've been counting? I'm flattered." That damned pirate's grin.

"No – I – hey!"

She leaped out of the way as a snarling Meatball shot past her legs with a target lock on something just beyond her sight. He launched himself into the underbrush outside the shed and a cacophony of growling and screeching ensued.

"Monkeys," John said, unperturbed. Tori peeled herself off the wall, heart pounding.

"Monkeys?" she choked.

"Yeah. They come in here and steal things. They like shiny metal. Good thing most of our stuff hasn't been shiny for years."

"You're kidding me."

"I don't kid about monkeys stealing shit." His voice was rich with ironic humor. "Once, I found one of my new torque wrenches missing and a banana sitting on the workbench. I swear the thing thought he'd made a fair trade. Meatball keeps them run off during the day but we have to lock stuff up at night if no one's around." He gave her another one of those lazy grins. "What were we talking about?"

Suddenly flustered, Tori fumbled in the pocket of her shorts. "Here. I brought your flask back. Since it's a family heirloom and all. I guess you have a relative with the initials GB?"

"Uh-huh, I sure do." He took it from her, chuckling. "Thanks."

She scrambled for a new topic of conversation.

"What are you working on?" She indicated the oily-looking . . . _thing_ . . . sitting on the workbench.

"That's a carburetor. It controls the air-fuel mix being pushed into the engine. It's old and tired and needs replaced but I'm rebuilding it," John said.

"I read Kate's stories before I came out here. Are things really that bad, with getting new parts and stuff?"

"Corsairs can take more abuse than any other fighter up there and still get the pilot home but if something isn't broken on these birds today, it will be tomorrow," John said. "It doesn't help that Colonel Lard keeps trying to put us out of business by rejecting half of Greg's supply requisitions." He pushed away from the bench and stopped just inches from her. "Come on, I'll show you."

"Won't Sergeant Micklin yell if you take more time off?"

He held her eyes. She could see the gray rim around his dark brown irises.

"Yepper."

"And you're all right with that?"

"I've been yelled at for worse things."

He was close enough to touch her but he didn't. He turned on his heel and she took a few quick steps to catch up with him.

He paused in front of the first plane they came to.

"This one is Greg's. He brought her back in good shape this morning but said on the way home the RPMs started dropping. Not sure what's going on so I'll have to tear a few things apart to check. She usually doesn't act up like that." He spoke about the plane as if it were something warm and alive, not just a collection of steel parts. "A little attention and she'll be ready to go up again tomorrow."

Tori ran her fingers along the leading edge of the starboard wing. She was surprised at the rough texture and dusted her hands.

"The older birds – the ones that have been out here the longest - are kind of sandblasted," John said, reading her mind. "It's from the coral dust in the air. It causes all kinds of problems."

They walked down the line. Listening to him talk, Tori forgot about the heat, the smell of aviation fuel saturating the air, the hot tropical wind blowing grit against her bare legs. She watched him as he pointed out wear and tear or paused to listen and shout an opinion as another mechanic fired up one of the powerful engines. He moved with unassuming confidence, scrambling with athletic grace onto a wing or dropping onto a knee to consult with other personnel. She watched his hands in particular, fascinated by the flexibility of his fingers as they wielded tools or seemed to diagnose problems just by touch. Pride and passion showed in every word, every appraising glance.

He stopped near another plane where a mechanic polished the canopy, wiping off streaks of brown film.

"Jim's bird's been throwing oil." He sighed. "They're all throwing oil but his is worse than usual. Getting oil out here is hard enough in the first place. The second problem is keeping it in the planes."

"What happened _there_?" Tori pointed to the plane at the end of the line. The fighter sat at an awkward angle, the tip of one wing nearly touching the ground. The port side landing gear was mangled beyond recognition.

"Yeah, that's not gonna buff out," John said resignedly. Seeing the shocked look on her face, he laughed. "Just joking. TJ blew a tire on landing yesterday. The sun and humidity out here are hard on rubber – tires and hoses wear out fast. We try to keep them replaced on a regular maintenance schedule but . . ." He shrugged. "I don't know how TJ held it together. But then I don't know how he does half the stuff he does."

"Did he get hurt?"

"Nah, he was fine but that whole belly assembly will have to be rebuilt. You know what they say - a good landing is one you walk away from, a great landing is one where you can use the plane again."

It was Tori's turn to laugh.

"Do you ever want to fly one of them?"

"Me? A pilot? No way. I went up with Greg once, in the SNJ." He saw the blank look on her face and pointed at a two-seater aircraft sitting on one side of the strip. "We, um, kind of stole that one from the Navy. I guess they know where it is, if they ever want it back. Anyway, that was enough for me. I'll fix 'em but - " he drew his features into a scowl and twisted his voice to mimic Micklin, " – I'll leave the flyin' to them college boys."

"How many of them actually went to college?"

John leaned against the wing of TJ's ruined aircraft and folded his arms.

"Anderson and Bragg – yeah – and TJ, I think. French, too. Jim sure as hell didn't. I don't know about Casey. I think he was going to but enlisted instead."

"What about you?" He didn't seem like the college type – fraternity brothers with their polished loafers and argyle sweaters - but she was curious. For all that he occupied her mind, she knew so little about him.

He chuckled.

"No college for me, sweetheart."

The endearment slipped out so naturally she noticed it only for the sense of easy familiarity it spun between them.

"I went to work on the GM assembly line right after high school. My old man and I were planning to open a garage together but then Pearl got hit and, well, here I am." He shrugged. "What about you? Why nursing school?"

"I like healing," she said honestly, stepping into the shade of the plane's fuselage next to him. "And the way the human body is put together. It's fascinating." She knew she was blushing but it was the truth. "My parents weren't crazy about it. They had other plans for my future. I don't think they really expected me to graduate. They sure didn't expect me to join the Nursing Corps."

"Why did you?" John studied her. "Patriotic fervor? Your dad's big at Ford Motors – you could have stayed in the States, been Rosie the Riveter if you wanted to contribute to the war effort. It would have been a lot safer than volunteering to come out here."

He was joking but a tremor of unease ran through her. She wasn't about to tell him why she was out here.

"Patriotic fervor?" she said a little hastily. "I guess that about covers it. A friend at the first civilian hospital where I worked after nursing school – before I joined up - her fiancé was killed at Guadalcanal. The man I thought I was going to marry acted like it was no big deal, like the war and all the boys dying didn't matter as long as he could still get a 10 a.m. tee-time at the club. It made me mad. I joined up because they needed nurses."

"So what are you doing out here?" he persisted. "There are tons of Stateside bases where you could have served."

Tori shifted uncomfortably. The conversation was going places she didn't want it to.

"I should let you get back to work," she said, waving an arm to indicate the planes. "Now I understand why you never get time off."

"I'm not the only mechanic on this rock. I take time off when there's something worth taking it off for."

She felt his eyes tracing her body, openly appreciative without overstepping boundaries. She backpedaled from the sudden, unexpected change of topics.

The air raid siren sliced through the still afternoon and she jumped. Even as the wail reverberated across the base, a pair of Zeros came in low from the east, cannons blazing. John bolted toward the nearby foxhole, swore loudly and bolted back. He grabbed Tori around the waist and hauled her away from TJ's crippled plane. She matched his stride, legs pounding, then the Zeroes were above them. Spits of dirt and rock kicked up ahead of the aircraft as hot lead blasted the ground where they'd been standing seconds before. She heard the zing of bullets chewing into metal as John drug her out of the line of fire and they tumbled to the ground. She hit hard, knocking the air from her lungs and he threw himself over her. She didn't struggle as his body pressed her into the sand. The ground reverberated with impact of the airborne firepower. Then the planes were gone. John slowly loosened his grip and blew out his breath as he rolled onto his back. He turned his head toward her.

"You all right?"

"I'm fine." Her heart was in her throat and the words were automatic. She had no idea how she was.

John scrambled to his feet and pulled her up. His eyes ran over her from head to toes.

"Yeah. You are." He grinned at the look on her face, then sobered. "Go." He pointed to the jungle. "There'll be more of them. All our planes are still on the line. We're sitting ducks and they know it but we repositioned some of the anti-aircraft guns after the last time. They won't get any more of our birds for free." He glanced skyward. "Follow the path and get past the tree line." She hesitated. "Tori, go! You'll be safe there, they're after the base, they won't waste ammo shooting trees. Wait until you hear the all clear." He spun her around and shoved her in the small of the back. She heard the drone of approaching planes and ran.

A faint path led through the thick foliage and within yards, she'd traded blazing sun for filtered green light. She leaned against the trunk of a palm tree, gulping for breath. She heard the roar of engines as a second wave of planes swept low over the base, their guns blazing in staccato bursts, answered by the return pounding of anti-aircraft fire. Something exploded and the scent of burning drifted on the breeze. Men yelled. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades in the still air. Her elbow stung and when she looked at it, she realized she'd skinned it when she and John tumbled to the ground. Better than a bullet, she mused, poking gently at the torn skin. Meatball popped out of the undergrowth and scared her half to death. She reached down to scratch the dog's ears and he leaned blissfully against her legs.

Then there was silence. The roar of the Zeroes faded. She held her breath, motionless in the dappled shade. She could hear the wind in the tops of the palms, then Greg yelling.

"Who's still got a bird in one piece? Jim, you and Anderson, mount up! Get after them! Stay far enough back they can't see you but get a fix on where those bastards set down!"

More shouting, then the roar as two Corsair engines coughed to life and powered down the airstrip.

"Tori?" John's voice sounded miles away. "You can come out. They're gone."

She made her way back toward the sunlight, Meatball trotting happily in her wake. John stood at the edge of the tree line, one hand scrubbing through his hair while the other slapped his hat agitatedly against his hip.

"All right, sweetheart?" he asked when she emerged. That endearment again. She still had no idea if she were all right or not.

"Yeah." If she said it often enough, maybe she'd believe it. She looked around. Several men were wheeling a fire extinguisher toward the smoking bulk of what had been a carefully arranged stack of 55-gallon oil drums 10 minutes earlier.

"It was just a couple of raiders this time, not a full squadron," John said.

"Made damn near as much of a mess. Did they get all the oil?"

Tori recognized Greg's voice and turned. The major jogged up, blood streaming down his left bicep. Beyond him, through the drifting smoke, she could see Kate, camera raised, framing shots as men put out flames and assessed damage. The whole attack had taken less than five minutes. Meatball trotted off, happy to be in the middle of the chaos.

"Some, but not all of it. We quit storing it all in one place."

"They've gotta be stationed somewhere within range – they're never carrying drop tanks," Greg muttered. "With any luck, Jim and Bobby can get the coordinates of their base."

"Hey, Wiley's hurt!" Boyle's voice carried through the mayhem.

"Where?" Tori spun.

"Over here!"

She sprinted toward his voice, John right behind her.

TJ was laying on the ground, clutching his ankle, face twisted in pain.

"Landed on it wrong when I slid into the foxhole," he grimaced as Tori knelt and unlaced his boot. She pulled it off, along with his sock, and gently probed the joint. It was swelling rapidly.

"My guess is it's just sprained but you are going to the hospital, Lieutenant, and have Doc Reese take a look." She stood, thanking God it wasn't any worse. The rain of metal death hadn't hit any of the boys. Or her, she thought absently. She turned to Greg, who had taken off his shirt and was using it to mop ineffectively at his arm. Dear Lord, what was it with men and shirts around this place? She pushed the sensation of John's hands and the tight grip of his arms around her as he threw her out of the line of fire from her mind. Reaching out, she caught Greg's elbow and pulled him to a halt. "And you, Major, are going to have that arm checked out." When he opened his mouth, she beat him to it. "Don't argue with me."

Tori heard John chuckling behind her.

"She means it," he said to Greg. "She won't leave you alone if she thinks you're hurt."

John pulled TJ to his feet and helped him limp to the jeep. After dumping him unceremoniously in the front seat, he turned to her. She reached up and brushed sand out of his hair. He caught her wrist, squeezed and let go.

"Thanks for bringing the flask back," he said quietly. "Maybe someday we can see each other when no one is shooting at us."

Tori blinked in surprise and swallowed the unexpected jolt of happiness that shot through her.

"I'd like that," she said and climbed into the jeep. Greg and Kate leaped into the back and before John could say anything else, she shifted into gear and took off.

 **XXX**

Casey stepped up next to Hutch as he stood, watching the jeep's dust trail fade.

"If the only time that girl sees you is when there's an air raid, you're never gonna get lucky," he said.

Hutch shot him a look.

"First TJ and Jim, then Greg, now you?"

Casey's teasing grin grew wider.

"Look, she came out here on her free time, stood around in the heat and the dirt and spent an hour talking to you – nearly got shot for her efforts – are you so unfamiliar with how women work that you don't recognize interest when you see it?"

"I'm familiar with how women work."

"I think you need a refresher course." Casey arched his eyebrows. "I expect it'll come back to you quick enough."

"Wise ass."

The two men stood, watching as the burning oil drums were extinguished. An earth-mover with a front-end loader scooped up the carnage and trundled away toward the dump. Hutch blew out a breath.

"The girl's used to high society parties. This place is like living in a shooting gallery. It's not like I can pick up my tuxedo from the cleaners and take her out on the town."

"You don't have to. If she liked fancy parties she never would have come out here in the first place. You need to show her something she's never seen before. Girls like new stuff. What about the north point lagoon? Mmmm? By moonlight?"

Hutch shook his head.

"With my luck, we'd interrupt Greg and Kate. That's kind of their spot. Besides, I don't want her to think the only thing I want is to get her panties off."

Casey snorted.

"Don't you?"

"No. Well, yeah. No! I'd like to spend some time with her first without all you nosy Nellies sticking your beaks in. Or Tojo taking potshots at us. Geez, every time I'm around her, something explodes or someone ends up bleeding or throwing up or getting hauled to the hospital. It's a wonder she'll even come near me."

"What about the waterfalls?"

"What about them?"

"I bet she hasn't seen them. Take her up there. It's such a pain in the ass to get to, no one's going to interrupt you. You'll have all the privacy you want." Casey paused and wiped sweat off his forehead. "It's been so damned hot lately, bet she'd love to get off the base."

Hutch didn't say anything but the first tentative notion of a plan was starting to form in his mind.

"Give it some thought," Casey continued, warming to the subject. "Girls love that sort of stuff. She's interested in you enough to keep coming out here, bet it wouldn't take much to get her - "

"Hell, Casey, I mean it," Hutch interrupted, "I don't expect to get laid on the first date." Exasperation rang in his voice.

The tow-headed lieutenant looked him up and down.

"Then you're one of the few." He shook his head sheepishly. "You might be surprised though – maybe _she_ is. Dee was expecting a lot more than I was, the first time we went to the beach."

Hutch looked at him doubtfully.

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Trust me, I'm not." Casey shrugged and grinned. "Women are weird that way sometimes. Get them alone and there's no telling what can happen."

Hutch didn't doubt Casey was right. Girls could be surprising creatures and he had no idea what would happen if he and Tori were ever alone someplace where bloodshed and mayhem weren't the norm. If he set the wheels of his plan in motion, he hoped to find out.

He also wanted to know what brought her to the Southwest Pacific. This place wasn't Hell but you could see it from here and it was the last place he'd ever expect to find a girl with her pedigree. When he mentioned how she could have gotten a job in any of the factories around Detroit to support the war effort, she'd gone evasive with speed any of the Black Sheep would have been proud of. He didn't expect her to tell him all her secrets but he didn't think he'd asked anything that personal.

 **XXX**

Dee was coming off shift and ran into Tori as she made her way down the corridor of the nurses' quarters.

"We heard the sirens again – are you all right?" Dee queried.

"Yeah. I've been in the infirmary with TJ and Greg."

"Anything serious?"

"No. TJ rolled his ankle diving into a foxhole and Greg caught some shrapnel damage on one arm. Treated and released. Kate drove them back to the base for medicinal Scotch."

"You look like you could use a drink, too," Dee observed. "First air raid up close and personal?"

"Yeah. John said it wasn't even a full squadron, just a partial wing. Jim and Bobby took off chasing them. Greg hoped they could get a fix on their base." Tori opened her door and motioned Dee to follow her into the room.

"You're kind of a mess – did you end up in a foxhole, too?" Dee asked.

"Um . . . no . . ." Tori twisted to look over her shoulder in the mirror. John hadn't exactly been clean when he wrapped his arms around her and getting tackled to the ground hadn't improved things any. The back of her previously pristine white T-shirt was smeared with oily dirt. She looked down. So was the front, including a very distinct hand print across her stomach. Her shorts weren't any better. Good lord, she couldn't have gotten any filthier if she'd laid down and rolled around in it.

Dee studied her.

"Nice hand print. I'm guessing it's not yours."

Tori decided she wasn't even going to try to explain.

"How'd it go before the air raid?" Dee asked. "Was Hutch eternally grateful you returned his family heirloom?"

"Heirloom, my sweet aunt," Tori said. She kicked off her shoes and ignoring the condition of her clothes, flopped onto her back on her bed. "I'm 99 percent sure it was Greg's to start with but John wouldn't admit it. The whole thing was a set up to get me back out there. I don't know whose idea it was." She couldn't contain the laugh. "But it worked, didn't it?" Restless, she sat up again. "I know a lot more about Corsairs than I did this morning. Did you know there are 36 spark plugs in one of those engines?"

"Did you learn anything more about the man who keeps them in the air?"

"Who, Micklin?"

Dee fixed her with a look.

"Honestly to God, Tor, I haven't met anyone so determined not to be interested in someone else since Kate spent two months acting like Greg was just another source for her stories." She snorted. "He finally got her over that."

"John's too busy to have time for a girl. And I'm not . . . looking."

"Oh, he'll make time if he sees something he likes." Dee eyed her appraisingly. "And you – you had the rest of the afternoon off. You could have gone to the beach, taken a nap, caught up on letters home but no, you went to spend it in the dirt and heat and mess of the flight line because he was there."

Tori shifted uncomfortably. She'd caught the hot, hungry look John had given her more than once, no matter how easily he disarmed her with a grin or a quick change of subject. Maybe Dee had been right that first night in the Sheep Pen when she caught her admiring John's backside. There was nothing wrong with that, she told herself firmly. She liked boys. She liked boys just fine. Especially when they stayed at arm's length. Which John refused to do. And she had no idea what she was going to do about it.

"You know," Dee continued. "Most of those boys are like a revolving door, different girl on their arms every week. It really doesn't matter if you're talking about pilots or ground crew – they've all been tarred with the same brush. But Hutch is different. If he's taking time to spend with you, he means it."

"Get out of here." Tori smiled and pointed at the door. "I need to take a shower." She winced and looked at her skinned elbow. "And put something on this."

"Come over later if you still want that drink. Kate's coming up from the base tonight. I'm sure she can fill you in on what the boys have to say about him."

And that, Tori thought, was exactly what she didn't need or want to hear. The less she thought about Sergeant John Hutchinson as anything more than a friend and occasional patient, the easier – and safer – her life would be. She hadn't been kidding the day she told Micklin boys were generally more trouble than they were worth.

 **XXX**

Tori planned to shower, grab a late supper and spend the rest of the evening writing long overdue letters to her parents and sister Olivia. She managed the first two before hitting the wall on the third. She sat at her desk and fiddled with pencil and paper for 20 minutes before giving up. She was too restless to concentrate on writing any sort of letter that wouldn't send her mother into a total panic. Air raids, enough Scotch to float a carrier, exploding aircraft, accidentally poisoned dogs and mechanics with rough good looks who called her sweetheart all fell into that category. By the time she edited out everything that would have Portia Bishop reaching for a valium, she'd be left with little more than idle chat about the weather. She could tell her sister about all those things and Olivia would read them with eager fascination and want more but Tori found she wasn't in the mood to try reducing the essence of her life here to mere words on paper.

Across the hall, she could hear cheerful laughter spilling out of Dee's room. Tori put down her pencil. She'd finish the letter later, she told herself firmly. A drink sounded good. She shook her head. John was right. She'd been here long enough to get a head for alcohol. One more thing she probably shouldn't tell her mother.

The nurses with private quarters frequently gathered in one another's room for a nightcap and to toss around the day's gossip. Tori enjoyed being included and valued the girls' camaraderie but it made her slightly uncomfortable when the topic turned to sex. She had no doubt it would go there again tonight before Delmonte called lights out. It almost always did. The girls with steady boys – Dee and Kate – were less inclined to dish on their men but the girls who considered the Black Sheep their personal playground were always willing to tell tales out of school.

Who, when, where, how many times, technique, results. It could be a little overwhelming. It wasn't that she didn't approve of men and women enjoying each other in mutually satisfying ways, it was just that she had absolutely nothing to contribute to the conversation and didn't see that changing any time soon. Sex was fine and good . . . for other people.

Tori found herself caught awkwardly between the two camps. She had neither a steady beau here nor an interest in playing musical beach blankets. She was reluctant to pursue either course, although she'd be kidding herself if she said John hadn't shown up in her dreams a time or two. Or three. Or . . . oh, hell, she'd go have a drink and if things got too uncomfortable, she'd just have another one.

 **XXX**

Kate was in the shower when Tori knocked lightly and slipped through Dee's door. She could hear her singing the popular Harry James tune "It's Been A Long, Long Time" as fragrant steam wafted out of the small bathroom. Ellen and Laura had dropped in, too.

"Decide you needed that drink after all?" Dee sat in a chair by the window, needle flashing as she mended a shapeless garment in her lap.

"I made it through a shift without killing Delmonte, then I got shot at by the Japanese and thrown in the dirt and had to haul two of the Black Sheep to the hospital. I think I deserve it."

"Bottle's on my desk, help yourself." Dee shook out the garment – one of Kate's shirts - and eyed it critically, then re-threaded her needle and went to work on another one.

Ellen splashed whisky into a glass and handed it to Tori.

"Heard you were at the base today when they got hit," she said. Ellen was an auburn-haired girl from upstate New York with a pin-up's lush figure. She and Bobby Anderson were an on-again, off-again couple. From the details she'd shared a few days ago, they were very much on again.

Tori sipped, relishing the taste of peat smoke on the back of her tongue.

"Yeah. I could have done without that part," she said.

"Dee said you'd gone to see Hutch. Something about returning a flask that belonged to him?" Ellen teased. Tori looked around the room. Dee paused, her hands resting on the mending in her lap. Kate had exited the shower and was toweling her wet hair. Laura perched expectantly on the edge of her chair. Dee had clearly filled them in and they were eager to hear her side of the story.

Tori rolled her eyes. They wouldn't leave her alone until they'd wrung every detail from the encounter.

"It was a total set-up," she said. "Greg was in on it from the start. He made me think that flask was John's so I'd go see him."

"Doesn't surprise me," Kate said. "Those boys enjoy playing matchmaker almost as much as they enjoy chasing skirts. What did you two do after I left the line – before the air raid?"

"He was telling me about the planes and then . . ." she faltered, remembering the direction their conversation was headed when the air raid siren sounded. "Then the raiders hit," she finished lamely.

"When are you going to see him again?" Laura asked.

"I don't know!" Tori felt a little defensive. The girls were just as bad as the Black Sheep when it came to matchmaking. "It's not like this afternoon was a date. We're just friends."

"Friends?" Kate pushed gently. "Or, you know, _friends_?" The inflection of her voice on the last word was low and husky.

"No! I keep telling you, it's nothing like that."

"Why not?"

Tori sputtered.

"Because . . . it's just not!"

"Then you've got more willpower than most of us," Ellen said.

"Not really." Tori re-filled her glass. She was unsure where this conversation was headed but if she was going to stick with it, she needed a little more liquid courage.

"Willpower tends to disappear when you're alone with one of those boys under the starry sky," Ellen said. "I swore I wasn't going to let Bobby touch me until that night he took me to the beach. Well." She smiled dreamily. "So much for that."

"What do you guys do for a date around here?" Tori asked, then added hastily, "besides have drinks in the Sheep Pen or go to the beach?"

The girls looked at each other.

"We have drinks on the beach," Kate said, grinning.

Tori pulled a face.

"I'm serious."

"I am, too," Kate said. "It's about the only place you can get any real privacy in this fish bowl. And going there isn't all about sex. You can take a picnic or go swimming. The stargazing is incredible."

Dee made a strangled noise.

"Stargazing? Is that what you're calling it now?"

Kate glared at her then turned back to Tori.

"Yes. Stargazing," she said firmly, lips curving. "You and Hutch should try it some time."

Tori buried her face in her whisky glass, hoping it covered the heat rising in her cheeks.

"It's not like that," she protested. "We just kind of run into each other by accident. A lot."

"Oh come on, I've seen the two of you together. He's an absolute gentleman around you and that's saying quite a bit for that bunch." Kate paused. "He'd treat you that way whether you're getting shot at or . . . um . . . well . . . whatever else you might be doing." Her grin was not innocent.

Kate was right, Tori thought. From the first minute she met John, he'd flirted and teased to no end but he didn't push. He wasn't overbearing or crude. Their limited physical contact hadn't gone beyond medical treatment or emergency safety measures and twice now he'd shielded her body with his in the presence of danger. But then, she'd barely been alone with him for more than 15 minutes at a time. There hadn't been a chance for anything else to transpire. Exploding aircraft, vomiting dogs and being shot at by the enemy weren't great starts to a romantic interlude. And a romantic interlude was the last thing she was looking for. She grimaced involuntarily.

"Um, earth to Tori?" Kate's voice was gentle.

She blinked, coming back.

"What's going on, sweetie?" Ellen asked. "You don't look happy. Most of the girls out here love it when the boys are interested. Getting a little loving helps keep us all sane." She looked shrewdly at Tori. "You've been with a guy before, right? Not that it's bad if you haven't, I mean, we all start there."

"No." Tori shook her head. "It's not that. And it's not John. It's me." She looked at Dee, the only one in the room who understood the truth. Suddenly, she needed them to know, as if telling others would be one step closer to forgetting Admiral Grier's violation forever.

Haltingly, she told them what happened the night of the Covington's anniversary party. She relived the shock and pain and the deception of the aftermath that saw her promoted and shipped as far away from Washington as Moore could send her. Kate's jaw hardened. Laura and Ellen looked disgusted, then furious. Dee reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"I hit him over the head before he could . . . before he actually . . ." She swallowed hard, remembering the feeling of helpless anger as Grier groped her and forced her legs apart. "He didn't . . . you know. But the bruises lasted for weeks. They were on my thighs, my arms. Even . . ." she stumbled. "Even on my breasts. I don't know if I'll ever want a man to touch me again."

"That wasn't touching, that was assault," Kate said. "And don't you dare think for a minute it was your fault."

"I don't," Tori said. "I know it wasn't my fault, no matter what he said."

"If that ever happens again – if you say no and a guy doesn't listen – all bets are off," Kate said. "Knee him in the balls or take the flat of your hand to his nose."

"Bite him," Laura suggested.

The suggestions flew thick and fast.

"Jab him in the throat."

"Throw an elbow."

"Stomp on his instep."

"Bend his fingers backward."

"Poke him in the eyes."

"It happened to me once," Ellen said quietly when the suggestions died down. Her mouth was a tight line. "It was a guy I was dating. I said no and he wouldn't listen. It was all about him – what he wanted. He didn't care anything about me and that hurt worse than anything he did physically. It was months before I let a man touch me again. I needed to know I had control of my body and that whoever I was with respected me." She brightened. "Then I met Bobby. You'll work through it in your own time."

"But even with Preston – my ex-fiance – it wasn't very . . ." Tori struggled for a word to describe the mechanical proceedings that had marked their bedroom. "I mean, it was just awkward and messy and not very . . . oh, I should just shut up. I'm drinking too much. It has to be better than that, right? Or is that just the way it works?"

"No!" The other girls all said at once.

"You just haven't found the right guy yet," Kate assured her. "And finding one who is interested in _you_ for who you really are is the first step."

"Have you told Hutch about any of this?" Laura asked.

"No!" Tori shook her head. "It's not exactly the sort of thing that comes up in casual conversation. He thinks I'm out here because I'm an all-American girl, volunteering for her country."

"Don't you think he deserves the truth?" Dee asked gently.

Tori fidgeted.

"We're just friends. It's water under the bridge." She made a dismissive gesture.

"Friends tell each other stuff that's on their mind," Kate said. "And that's kind of a big deal." She paused. "I went off on Greg one night about an ex-lover. It was back when we were . . . just friends." She grinned broadly.

"What did he do?" Tori shoved her tangled feelings back into the bag they'd come out of.

"Opened a bottle of whisky and let me rant."

"Works for me," Tori said. "Thanks, you guys, for listening. I appreciate it."

"Well," Kate said briskly, "here's to having a stirrup cup when you need one." That brought a round of laughter. She lifted the whisky bottle and Tori held out her glass. Confession might be good for the soul but it was turning her into a lush.

The other girls clinked their glasses against hers and Tori joined them in a toast that encompassed men, friendship, love and privacy that could only be found on the wide open spaces of the beach. Dee asked Kate how she'd torn holes in her shirts this time and the conversation drifted to other topics. Tori sipped her drink while the girls' banter fell around her like leaves in autumn, light and colorful.

She knew the girls would keep teasing her about John. It was what they did. There was empowerment in their words, an affirmation of worth and value, and the assurance that her reluctance to trust men beyond the simple veils of friendship would someday drift away like smoke on the wind.

She wondered how long that was going to take.


	8. Chapter 8

_(Author's note: I thought "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" was a WWII era song. Google tells me I am about 10 years ahead of myself, as both Jimmy Dorsey and Louis Armstrong recorded it in 1951. It was written in 1935 so I guess people could have been singing it during the 40s. I'm using it as a title and theme for this chapter anyway. Editorial license and all that.)_

 **Chapter 8: 'A Kiss to Build a Dream On'**

 **Navy Hospital, Vella La Cava**

It had been one thing after another all day and the stifling heat wasn't helping. By 1400, Tori was ready to tell Lieutenant Commander Delmonte in explicit detail what she could do with her inventory control forms in triplicate.

"What?" she snarled when Dee knocked on the open door of the supply room.

The dark-haired nurse stepped back, raising her hands and smilling.

"I've got something that'll put you in a better mood."

"Don't bother with a glass, just give me the bottle," Tori muttered, not turning around as she counted bottles of iodine and recorded the number on her clipboard.

"Your wish is my command." John's voice was polished with dry humor.

She snapped around to see him standing in the doorway. He lifted a bottle of beer and held it at chest level. He was shirtless. Again. A bead of condensation ran down the brown glass and quivered for a second before splashing against his abs and trickling into the dark line of hair that ran toward the waistband of his pants. Leave it to him to walk into her life on a day when her defenses were at low ebb. She wasn't sure what looked better, the alcohol or the man.

She had the presence of mind not to say either and reverted to what had become her automatic litany around the hospital where any of the Black Sheep were concerned.

"You can't have beer in here."

He stepped into the room and held out the bottle.

"Then you'd better drink it in a hurry."

"I can't drink – I'm on duty!" she hissed. John's lean body filled the small space. He smelled like soap, with the faint ghost of airplane exhaust that always seemed to cling to him.

He shrugged.

"Then I'll drink it." He pulled the bottle back.

"Give me that!" She grabbed at his wrist.

He paused.

"Make up your mind, woman, either you want it or you don't."

She should just kick him out, here and now, but the sparkle in his eyes was impossible to resist. She pulled the bottle out of his hand and took a long drink. The beer tasted wonderful. She closed her eyes and pressed the wet glass against her forehead.

"There's more where that came from. Come with me?" She wasn't sure why he bothered to ask, since without hesitating, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her into the hallway.

"I can't! I don't get off shift for another hour," she protested, trying to ignore the thrill that ran up her spine. It was the first time he'd touched her that hadn't involved some form of violence occurring around them and his grip was firm but respectful. He had no business handling her like that, she thought. Absolutely none.

"Sure you can. I'll cover for you," Dee said. "Go."

John took two steps toward the front door, his arm still around her waist, and Tori froze. She could hear Delmonte's distinctive footfalls approaching in the corridor. The woman marched like McArthur.

"Go out the back!" Dee stage whispered. "Save yourselves before it's too late."

Tori grabbed John's hand and they bolted through the infirmary and out a back door. She pulled him through a small anteroom, down a short flight of stairs and outside into the heat of the afternoon.

"When you make up your mind, you really –" he started.

"Shhh!" Tori stepped in front of him. She pressed her fingers over his mouth and flattened him against the building. His eyebrows shot up but he didn't argue. They stood in silence, his hands resting on her shoulders. The heat of his body through her jumpsuit was almost unbearable but she didn't dare move at the risk of drawing attention from above. Through the open windows over their heads, she could hear Dee's carefully modulated responses to Delmonte's strident questions. John reached up and pulled her hand from his mouth.

"Go change your clothes," he whispered. "I'll meet you by the back door of the nurses' quarters. And give me back that beer. It'll be waiting for you." He took the bottle away from her, winked and left.

This was not a good idea, Tori thought. This could not _possibly_ be a good idea. She was going AWOL and she didn't even know where she was going. She decided it was probably best if she didn't think too much about it. She raced back to her quarters, stripped off her jumpsuit and pulled on a T-shirt, shorts and canvas shoes without socks. Wondering what the hell she was getting into, she slid out the back door of the building just as John pulled up. She jumped in almost before the jeep rolled to a stop and they took off out of the compound.

"Give me back my beer," she said.

"Oh, it's your beer now?"

"Don't be a tease."

"There's something no one's ever called me." He handed her the bottle.

Tori closed her eyes and tipped her head back as they sped along the dirt road. In spite of the heat, the wind and sunshine scoured away her earlier bad mood. To their left, she could see glimpses of the white sand beach and beyond it, the Pacific Ocean stretching into infinity. To her right, the inland jungle loomed, green and dark. It felt good to escape from the hospital and Delmonte's endless paperwork. It felt even better to escape with John.

They were almost to the base when he turned the jeep off the road and parked under the palms edging the dense jungle undergrowth. He got out, hefting a knapsack over his shoulder. It rattled pleasantly with the sound of ice and bottles. He held out his hand.

"Come with me."

It was the second time in 15 minutes he'd said that but this time she looked at him suspiciously.

"Where are we going?"

"I want to show you something."

She gave him a look. Boy, if _that_ didn't sound like a pickup line.

"What is it?"

"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise."

"What if I don't like surprises?"

"You'll like this one."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself."

John swung the knapsack back and forth.

"The rest of the beer's in here. If you don't come with me, you don't get any."

She rolled her eyes.

"If you think you can lure me into . . ." she flung her arm toward the jungle, " . . . the deep, dark woods with a beer, you've got another think coming."

He was laughing out loud now.

"God, Tori, if I'd known trying to spend time alone with you was going to be this hard I would have started weeks ago."

Her heart skipped a beat and she softened, wary but willing. His tone was so honest, she couldn't help but trust him.

"Okay." She got out of the jeep.

"It's a little bit of a climb but it'll be worth it."

"What will be worth it?"

"You've been hanging around Kate too much, you know that? You ask too many questions." John turned and plunged into the undergrowth. "Come on, the trail isn't long but it's steep. Watch your step."

She didn't get a chance to ask any more questions. The trail sloped immediately upward, leaving her scrambling for both footing and breath. _Trail_ was an optimistic concept, she thought. There was nothing to indicate anyone traveled this way regularly.

"It'll be easier on the way down," he said helpfully, turning to look over his shoulder.

"It can't possibly be any worse," she grumbled, nearly losing her footing for the third time.

"Here." He extended his hand. Tori hesitated, fought a losing battle with pride and took it. His grip was hard and warm and he pulled her easily up the last few yards, then stepped aside when they were both on level ground.

"Oh!" Her gasp was one of genuine pleasure.

In front of them, the landscape dipped to form a low basin. A series of small waterfalls splashed joyously over natural stone terraces before cascading in a column of foam to a deep aqua pool. The basin was edged with boulders worn smooth with the passage of water and time. Ferns peeked out between the rocks and here and there, a bromeliad or orchid provided a surge of color. High above the pool, sunlight sparkled through the spray of mist, casting a rainbow that shimmered in the light breeze.

Tori realized she was still holding John's hand. She let go awkwardly and took a step forward.

"It's absolutely beautiful!" she breathed.

"It's spring fed, fresh water, not salt." He held his hand out again and she took it, still gazing raptly at the cascade of liquid crystal. He led her onto a rock jutting out over the pool, then put down the knapsack and took off his boots. Tori followed suit, kicking off her shoes and joining him to dangle her feet in the water. Her toes barely touched the surface as she perched on the edge of the rock. A fine spray of mist from the falls filled the air and she realized, belatedly, she was going to be soaked in no time. She didn't care. The mist felt wonderful on her hot skin. John opened the dripping knapsack and handed her a beer.

"Drink up. This thing's not a very good cooler."

She took the bottle, then stared at it.

"I hope you brought an opener."

"Do you think I'm such a lousy mechanic I can't get the cap off a beer bottle?" He produced a pocket knife and with a skilled flick, popped the tops off two bottles. Raising his, he said, "Here's to playing hooky."

She tapped her bottle against his.

"Hooky? Micklin doesn't know you left?"

"I told him I needed to go to the hospital. Which was the truth." He grinned. "Because that's where you were. Stop worrying and relax. You work too hard."

"You're a fine one to talk." She sipped, letting the cold malt tang slide down her throat. "When was the last time you played hooky?"

"This is the first time since forever."

She took a long pull at her beer, feeling the heat and stress of the day dissolve as spray from the waterfall misted her face.

"Did Jim and Bobby find anything yesterday? When they chased the raiders?"

"No. They ran out of light and had to turn back."

"What happens now?"

"Greg and the boys will do some recon flights in that general area but if they can't find anything, Greg will keep holding back a couple of planes and chase them again, next time they hit."

It was a foregone conclusion there would be a next time, she thought. The Japanese would continue to press their advantage, wreaking havoc on the island in hopes of re-taking it. Dreamily, she let the water's joyous tumble push thoughts of air raids out of her mind.

"Do you come up here often?" she asked.

"Not as often as I'd like. It's a good place to come when you want to forget another nation is trying to kill you. Casey and I found it right after we moved onto the base."

They sat in silence, watching the rainbow sparkle in the sun and the white foam smooth to sliver before it vanished into the azure of the pool.

"Hold my beer." John handed her the bottle, adding, "Please. Ma'am."

She glared at him, but took it and eyed him suspiciously. He stood, and before she could say anything, shucked out of his fatigues. Tossing them onto a dry rock near their shoes, he sat down next to her, completely unselfconscious in only his shorts. Tori handed back the beer and tried to keep her eyes on his face. Just when she thought she'd gotten used to him never wearing a shirt, now he was intent on running around in his skivvies.

"Can you swim?" The look on his face was so innocent she should have seen it coming. He drank while waiting for her to answer.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Why?"

"Give me your bottle."

She drained it, then handed him the empty. He tucked it into the knapsack along with his. "You're sure you can swim?"

"Of course! I took lessons at the country club."

"Why doesn't that surprise me." It wasn't a question. "Ready?"

"For wha - "

John wrapped an arm around her waist, leaned forward and pulled her off the rock. For a second, they hung suspended over the pool, then gravity claimed them. Tori grabbed a breath before water closed over her head. She kicked hard and shot back up. The water was colder than she expected and she surfaced with a shriek.

"I told you, it's spring fed, not warm like the ocean." John bobbed a few feet from her, as sleek and dark as the kelpies in the stories her Scottish nanny used to tell.

"Do you always throw your dates into cold water?"

"Is this a date?" The idea seemed to please him.

"I don't know, is it?" Tori wasn't sure where this was going.

"Do you want it to be?"

"Would you stop answering my questions with questions!"

She splashed him in the face and stretched out in a lazy sidestroke, then flipped onto her back. John vanished and she pushed herself upright, treading water and looking around wildly. He surfaced behind her and squeezed her shoulders.

"Tag. You're it."

He dove and Tori followed him, skimming across the pool's sandy bottom before breaking back into the air. She maneuvered behind him, planted both feet firmly on his back and pushed off, trying to ignore the feel of warm muscle under her toes.

The water was too cool to stay immersed for long. In spite of the exertion from the game of tag, chill began creeping up on her. She climbed onto one of the rocks edging the pool and wrapped her arms around her knees, basking in the sunshine. John climbed out of the water and joined her. He motioned at her dripping T-shirt and shorts.

"You could take those off, you know, and swim in your skivvies. Or take everything off and go skinny dipping."

"I could not!" she said indignantly.

"Why?"

"Because!" she sputtered. This time she did say the first thing that came to mind. "I hardly know you!"

"So when you know me better, you'll go skinny dipping with me?"

She was too flummoxed to answer. He shrugged.

"Suit yourself." For one panicked moment she thought he was going to take his shorts off but instead he sprawled on the rock next to her.

"You swim like an otter," she said, recovering, and turning her face up to the sun. "There aren't a lot of beaches in Flint. Where'd you learn?"

"Farm pond. And Lake Michigan." He drew a hand through his hair, leaving it even more rakish than usual.

"Farm pond?" Tori stretched out and rocked back on her elbows. The sunshine felt wonderful. John's lingering glance reminded her the soaking fabric of her shirt left little to the imagination. He didn't say anything but she could feel the quiet heat of appreciation in that look. She knew the proper thing to do would be to cover herself until she either warmed up or her clothes dried out. She didn't do either one. He was so non-threatening, being soaking wet and stretched out on a rock next to him seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah. My grandparents have a farm on the Upper Peninsula. We used to go up there every summer. My sisters and I would stay with them for a couple of months, then come back to the city when school started."

"Sounds lovely." She lay back against the warm surface. "Tell me about your family."

"Two little pain in the ass sisters." He grinned as he said it.

"How little?"

"Louise is 20 now, Dorrie is 18. I guess that's not so little. They seemed a lot littler when I enlisted."

"How long have you been in the Corps?"

"I joined up a month after Pearl. A friend of mine was on the _Arizona_."

She saw a shadow of loss cross his face, but before she could say anything it was gone and his usual grin was back.

"What about your family?"

"One big pain in the ass sister. Saint Olivia. I love her but she's perfect."

He laughed.

"She's your big sister, she's supposed to be perfect. Gives you something to live up to."

"No, John, I'm not kidding! She married the perfect man and they live in their perfect house with their perfect children. I'll never live up to that."

"Is that why you came out here?"

The question caught her off guard. She rolled to a sit and dangled her legs over the edge of the rock, trying to cover her discomfiture.

"Yeah, I, um, volunteered."

"I figured that much," he said drily. "They're not exactly drafting nurses. Why'd you volunteer? I mean, come on, you're a Bishop, you don't need to do this for the money."

Coming from anyone else, she would have bristled at the implication but his tone was so honest she wasn't offended. But that didn't mean she wanted to talk about it, either.

"It was the right thing to do," she said stoutly. Which was the truth. As far as it went.

"Very patriotic. How'd your folks feel about their little girl shipping out for the South Pacific?"

"They didn't say much." _Because everything happened so fast I didn't even get a chance to see them before I left._ Inwardly, she cringed. She was becoming the queen of half-truths. She hated it but she was avoiding telling him the whole truth like the plague. Just thinking about that night threatened to spoil the easy peace of the afternoon. The ugly darkness of it had no place in this tropical glade with its sparkling rainbow mists. She felt her tensed muscles relax when John didn't pursue it.

"Don't tell me you didn't leave a string of broken-hearted boys behind in Grosse Pointe." Again that infuriatingly comfortable tone that was impossible to take offense at.

"Just the guy I was supposed to marry," she said wryly.

He didn't seem surprised by this revelation.

"Why'd it end?"

Tori furrowed her brow.

"How do you know it ended?" she asked, suspicious. "Maybe he's still waiting for me."

John shrugged.

"Saw it in the society pages of the _Free Press_. My mom sent out a copy that had some of Kate's stuff in it and a story about my dad's plant. Thank Gutterman, he found the notice about your broken engagement and read it to everyone. Did Mr. Wrong break it off or did you?"

"Ugh. The society pages," Tori groaned. "I broke it off." She didn't elaborate.

"Fall out of love?"

"He was in love with an ideal. I didn't want to spend my life being that ideal."

"How do you want to spend it?"

Tori stared at him in exasperation.

"I think _you've_ been hanging around Kate too much. You ask too many questions." She decided to turn the tables. "What about you? Do you have a girl at home?"

Even as she said it, she knew he didn't. He had that unassailable sense of honor that would never allow him to be here with her, alone, teasing about skinny dipping, if he was connected to a sweetheart back in the States.

"No. I did but when I signed up, I didn't ask her to wait for me." His smile was rueful. "Which was good, because she didn't." He let his eyes linger on hers. "I'm glad."

"Me, too." The words were out of her mouth before she realized her brain had thought them.

Neither of them spoke.

Impulsively, Tori grabbed him around the waist and toppled them both into the water. In the short fall, John managed to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. They hit the pool as one, the cool water magnified as it slid between the heat of his skin and hers. This only traded one problem for another, Tori thought, but she hoped it would take his mind off the twisted truth about what brought her to Vella La Cava.

They frolicked for another hour, splashing in the pool and basking on the rocks, before clouds covered the sun and drained color from the glen.

"We'd better head back down," John said. "It's going to rain soon."

She was reluctant to leave the fairy tale setting but a rumble of thunder reminded her of the lightning threat. She pulled her shoes back on and the two of them slid down the trail to the beach where the jeep waited. John was right. Going down was easier than going up and when he offered his hand for balance, she didn't hesitate.

The first fat raindrops hit them as he started the engine. When he didn't turn the wheels toward the hospital, Tori looked at him in surprise.

"We're closer to the base," he said, accelerating. "We'll ride it out there. Look." He pointed.

Offshore, the sky was angry black, stitched by silver threads of lightning. She could see veils of rain hanging over the ocean, moving toward them on a rising wind that tossed the palms. She shivered in her damp clothes. John powered the jeep through the base, past the mess, the Sheep Pen and the men's tents. He braked hard to a stop by the flight line. It was raining in earnest now. He grabbed Tori's hand and together they ran toward a tent nearest the end of the line.

"Help me drop the sides!" he said.

She shoved wet hair out of her eyes and followed his lead, fingers scrabbling to untie the rope that held up the tent's sides. The heavy canvas unrolled and John lashed it down with efficiency born of practice, then pulled her inside as lightning cracked overhead.

She looked around and blinked. The surprise must have shown on her face. He chuckled.

"What? You were expecting the Waldorf-Astoria?"

Even in the dim light, she could see the tent was spotless. Next to the single, neatly made bunk, a bookcase improvised from up-ended ammo crates was filled with manuals and field guides. Another set of shelves held soap, towels, a shaving mug, spare blankets and a kerosene lantern. The space that would have normally housed a second bunk was occupied by a work bench made of a plank propped atop two sawhorses. John pulled a chain and a bare bulb over the bench illuminated the scattering of tools, small parts, greasy rags and other mechanical detritus littering the top. It was the only disorderly part of the tent. A calendar featuring a curvy pin-up's scantily clad backside hung above the work bench. The wooden planks of the floor were swept clean.

Tori shook her head.

"Not exactly. But the only other tent I've been in on this base is Kate's and, well . . ." She shrugged helplessly. John grinned.

"Okay. I get your point." Kate's combination tent and newspaper field office was a notorious disaster area.

Tori looked around, rubbing her bare arms.

"I suppose it helps that you're never here long enough to mess it up."

"You're right about that. Hey, are you cold?"

"Yes! Aren't you?"

John had pulled his trousers back on before they left the waterfall but remained as shirtless as ever, apparently impervious to the damp breeze slipping under the tent walls even as she was breaking out in goosebumps. He pulled a towel off a shelf and tossed it to her. She blotted ineffectively at her wet shirt, aware again of how the fabric clung to her. She'd gotten over being bothered by that and now the only thing that bothered her was the realization that it didn't bother her. Which made no sense. The man was addling her brain.

They stood near the doorway, watching sheets of rain sweep over the base. The squall was already lessening, moving across the island with the speed typical of the area's short-lived, intense, late day thunderstorms.

"I think it's let up enough, I can take you back to the nurses' quarters now," John said after a few minutes. He grinned at the skeptical look on her face. "I don't think you'll melt if you get wet."

Watery light flooded the tent as he shoved the front flap open and tied it back. In true South Pacific fashion, the sun was already coming out while rain continued to fall, casting a sparkling net across the base. Tori draped the towel neatly across the edge of the work bench.

"The devil's beating his wife again," John said absently.

" _What?"_

"The devil's beating his wife again," he repeated. "The sun's shining while it's still raining."

"Where do you come up with this stuff?"

He shrugged, laughing.

"We had a pilot here from Louisiana a while back. He used to say that all the time."

"You're pulling my leg." She pushed playfully at his chest. He caught her wrists and spun her around, pulling her closer. The heat of his body through her damp shirt was like a drug, infusing her senses.

The sun broke completely through the clouds, gilding her fingers on his skin and etching his face with gold, until they both glowed with it. She stood motionless, her mind telling her to step back, her body refusing to listen.

"Tori." The sound of her name on his lips sent shock waves through her body where they detonated low in her belly. "I am not pulling your leg."

He cupped the back of her head and kissed her, brushing his lips gently over hers, letting them linger. Startled, she jerked back, her heart pounding. John let her go, his hands light on her upper arms. She stood, trembling, and let his eyes pull her under without a word.

His mouth skimmed hers again, light at first, then harder, kissing her like he meant it. Her body responded without asking permission as the world narrowed to the heat of the embrace. She told herself to stop it, stop it now, this couldn't possibly be a good idea. Somehow her arms slid around his neck, one hand tangled in his hair.

The kiss was long and slow, his mouth deliciously rough against hers as she answered him in kind. Some distant part of her mind pointed out her ex-fiance's kisses had been rather perfunctory by comparison. John's triggered a thundering cascade of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her. Time lost all dimension. There was just him, heat and power and an unspoken promise of -

"Hey, Hutch! If ya got a second, those rudder cables were – ahhh, never mind. Sorry." Jim's low chuckle sounded from outside and Tori jumped. She didn't get very far, since John didn't let go of her.

"I'll get back to you on that! As you were!" Jim's voice was already fading.

The spell was broken. John twisted an index finger through the cow lick at her temple and tugged it straight, only to have the hair curl back the second he released it. They stood, looking at each other for a long moment. The impact of his kiss coursed through her, wilder and more reckless than it had any right to be.

"Come on. I'll take you back. I mean it this time." He had the audacity to grin at her. He pushed the mosquito netting out of the way and held it as she stepped out of the tent.

They drove back to the hospital, the silence between them vibrating on low frequency. John pulled up to the back entrance of the nurses' quarters. She didn't move.

"Think about skinny dipping next time. Now that you know me better and all." Humor lent a dark, inviting depth to his words. The look in his eyes made heat run through her from top to bottom but he didn't make any move to touch her. Tori swallowed hard. This was not what she was looking for. This was exactly she'd sworn to avoid. But he clearly intended for there to be a next time. And oh dear God, she really _was_ thinking about skinny dipping.

"I had a really good time this afternoon," she said, scrambling for some degree of propriety. "Thanks for asking me."

"You're welcome." He squeezed her knee with gentle affection and his touch made a statement without pushing boundaries. With a single kiss, he'd set in motion a cascade of feelings that caught her, unresisting, in their power. He was so unlike the boys she'd grown up with and dated, with their trust funds and sense of entitlement. Rough. Irreverent. Skilled with his hands. Slow to touch. Never demanding.

Impulsively, she leaned across the seat and kissed him on the mouth, quick and light, as if she didn't trust either her response or his. Then she fled into the building.

 **XXX**

Hutch drove back to the base, images of the afternoon playing through his mind like a newsreel loop. The lean arc of her body as she dove into the pool. The modesty that kept her from shedding her shorts and T-shirt even though the wet fabric highlighted every curve of her slender frame. Beautifully sculpted breasts with the hard peaks of her nipples pressing through her shirt. Sweet Jesus, he deserved a medal for keeping his eyes on her face and his hands to himself when he'd wanted to peel her out of those wet clothes and warm that chilled skin.

The mystery of her. The fleeting _something_ in her eyes when he'd asked her about her decision to volunteer to serve in a front area. And finally, the delicious feeling of her in his arms, returning his kiss the way he'd only dreamed about, even though she'd jumped like a scalded cat at first. She'd gotten over any reluctance quickly enough, he noticed, although he'd felt the residual tension that echoed through her body, like a wire pulled too tightly.

He hadn't intended to kiss her. Oh, sure, he'd thought about it plenty. He just never thought it would actually happen until it had. It had been the most natural thing in the world. Unfortunately it had also been in the doorway of his tent. They might as well have been in the middle of the Sheep Pen in front of God and everybody. Damn Jim and his rudder cables.

TJ flagged him down as he passed the steps of the Sheep Pen. The grin on the lanky pilot's face told Hutch all he needed to know. He had no doubt the 214's grapevine was lit up like a switchboard. He shifted the jeep into neutral and bit the bullet.

"Have you seen Jim?" he asked, trying to detour the conversation before it even started.

"Yeah. He's inside, why?"

"He stopped to see me earlier but I was busy. Thought I'd catch up with him now."

TJ chuckled.

"I know exactly how busy you were. I told you that girl likes you."

"One kiss doesn't mean anything."

TJ ignored him.

"Jim said it looked like she likes you a lot. I don't think she's the kind of girl who goes around kissing just anybody."

"Gutterman needs to mind his own business. Tell him I'll tighten up those rudder cables." He put the jeep back in gear and pulled away before TJ tried to wrangle anything else out of him.

No. She wasn't the kind of girl who went around kissing just anybody. He had no idea where this was going but yeah, maybe she did like him. Just a little. A guy could dream, couldn't he?

 **XXX**

Tori almost made it to her room.

"Look what the cat dragged in."

She jumped and turned to find Dee leaning in her doorway across the hall.

"I'm not sure what you did after you two left but it looks like you enjoyed it."

"We went swimming." Tori assumed this was fairly obvious but felt the need to declare some degree of innocent activity.

"I see. Do you always swim with your clothes on?"

"He didn't give me a choice," Tori said. "At least not at first. And I wasn't about to go skinny dipping, even though he suggested it. And we got caught in the rain. And then he kissed me." The words tumbled out. She hadn't planned to tell anyone that. It wasn't anyone's business but hers and John's.

"Mmmm." Dee mused. "Delmonte thinks you're in bed with a migraine, by the way. I had to tell her something when she wanted to know where you went. You weren't . . . in bed . . . were you?"

"No!"

"Tell me more." Dee followed Tori into her room.

"There's nothing to tell." _Except I've never been kissed like that in my life._

"Oh yes there it. You're floating. Come on, Tori, spill it." Her voice teased gently.

"You're nosy."

"Kate tells me that all the time." Dee's grin was unapologetic as she followed Tori into the room.

"There's nothing to tell," Tori repeated. She rummaged through a drawer for dry clothes. "He took me up to the waterfalls and we had a fun afternoon. He's . . . " She stopped. Dee was still looking at her expectantly. "Nice," she finished lamely. Nice. He'd been nice all right. There'd been a whole lot of nice going on when they'd been in each other's arms.

"Good. That's what you need." Dee grinned. "Tell me about the kiss."

Tori made an exasperated noise.

"Kate was right. When you get involved with one of those boys everyone thinks it's their business. Now get out of here." She spun Dee around by the shoulders and pushed her firmly toward the door.

"So you admit it, you _are_ involved."

Tori stopped. Yeah. They were. Just a little. One kiss worth.

"Yeah. No. It was just . . . I guess we are . . . oh, God, I don't know!"

Dee turned back, one hand on the door frame.

"Have you told him why you came out here? The real reason?"

Tori stopped, swallowed hard.

"No." Outside the window, a cloud passed over the sun, tinging the room briefly with gray. "We've kind of talked about it but he thinks I volunteered like you and the other girls. I really don't want the whole base to know the only reason I came out here was to prevent a scandal because some drunken ass couldn't keep his hands to himself." She bit her lip.

"If you two are going to have a . . . thing . . . you owe it to him to tell him the truth," Dee said softly. "It's none of my business but you can't build a relationship on lies."

"I'm not lying to him. I'm just not telling the whole truth." The words rang hollow even as she said them.

"Tor, it's the same thing."

"I know." She closed her eyes and blew out a breath. "He thinks I volunteered in a fit of patriotism, which I did. Initially. I just never intended to leave the States."

Dee stepped back into the room and gave Tori a quick hug.

"You'll figure it out. The two of you are sweet together." She raised a warning finger when Tori opened her mouth to protest. "Okay, okay, I'll get out of your business. Hey? What's this?" Dee's eyes fell on Tori's sketchpad, open on her desk. "Did you do these? Can I look?"

Tori rarely shared her drawings with anyone but it was too late to stop Dee.

"Go ahead. It's just something I do to relax when I have free time."

Dee picked up the tablet and studied the image on the page. It was a drawing of a man's hand, blunt, strong fingers casually relaxed around a whisky tumbler.

"This is really good. You're talented."

"Thanks."

"No, I'm not kidding. You could illustrate medical texts. I mean, look at this. You've got the tendons and the veins perfect and oh my God!" Her eyes widened. "That's Greg's hand, isn't it! It's like a photograph! This is amazing!"

Dee flipped to the next page. Her eyes widened as she studied a detailed sketch of two hands, feminine this time, fingers stretching with urgent grace to fasten a unit of blood to an IV pole. Dee sucked in her breath.

"That's me! Heaven knows I'm so short I'm always stretching to reach those damned hooks."

When Tori nodded in affirmation, Dee shook her head.

"That's amazing! How do you do that?"

"I like drawing bodies. I have a thing for hands," Tori said, a little awkward in the face of praise. "They're as individual as faces but no one ever looks at them that way. What we do with our hands, it's who we are."

"You're right. I never thought about recognizing someone from their hands."

Dee turned the next page and smiled in discovery.

A hand, feminine, writing, undoubtedly Kate's. The same hand stroking Meatball's head, the dog's goofy face alight with happiness. Kate's hand again, resting on Greg's. Even though the sketch didn't extend beyond the elbow of the involved parties, it was clear they were dancing. Music and grace emanated from the page.

"Those two are really easy," Tori said shyly. "They have very expressive hands."

Dee turned the page again and blinked. A man's hands this time, one clenching a pencil, the other grabbing at a stack of papers that were spilling every which way.

"That's Casey!"

Tori grinned.

"I saw him working on requisitions in the Sheep Pen one night. It looked like he was juggling chainsaws."

Dee turned to another page. It held two sketches. The one on the upper right was a man's hand, long, powerful fingers streaked with grime, gripping a wrench. Below it, the same hand, clean now, was entwined with a woman's fingers, palm to palm, in gentle, unspoken intimacy, a prelude to a kiss.

"Whoa. Tori. That's . . . that's Hutch!" She glanced at Tori's hands, resting lightly on the back of her chair. "And you. Are you sure there's nothing else you want to tell me?"

Tori plucked the sketchpad from Dee's unresisting fingers and flipped the lid closed. She smiled at her friend. "Out."

 **XXX**

Later, after she'd showered and put on dry clothes, Tori pulled her chair next to the window, propped her feet on the sill and flipped to a new page in her sketchbook. Her hand moved idly, the figure coming to life on the paper.

John wasn't like the boys she was used to, with their Brooks Brothers suits and wingtip shoes. He was work boots and sweaty muscle. She'd been raised with nannies and butlers. He'd been raised with grandparents and farm ponds. It went beyond that. He had no sense of entitlement, no expectation of the world to give him anything more than what he earned with the sweat of his own labor. The more she was around him, the more she was drawn to that quiet strength.

She sighed and closed her eyes.

Dee was right. She was lying by omission and he deserved better. She just didn't know how to tell him the girl who he thought had bravely volunteered to serve her country in a war zone was only here because the alternative would have torn her family to pieces.

And that the thought of a man touching her beyond casual interaction made her sick to her stomach.

And that when he'd kissed her, she felt that wall start to crumble, just a little bit.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Truth and consequences**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 H.Q.**

Bobby Anderson got his fifth Zero during a routine bomber escort over Bougainville. Greg confirmed the kill and plans for a celebration bash were underway long before the Black Sheep got back to base. Don French had been the last of the boys to make ace and that had been several months earlier. While parties at the Sheep Pen happened routinely and often for no apparent reason, a new ace was a cause for celebration that went above and beyond.

The boys' euphoria boiled over the second the squadron touched down, pilots leaping out of their aircraft to surround Bobby and pummel him with congratulatory backslaps and fierce embraces.

"Casey – you heard Greg - get that case of Scotch out of Kate's tent. I think there's some wine in there, too. And somebody let the nurses know! We're gonna light it up tonight!" Bobby whooped. He turned, grasping Hutch by the shoulders. "You gotta be there. I couldn't have done this without you. You've put my bird back together more times than I can count and she was running hot today. Bring Micklin, too, if you can pull that old grunt off the line for an hour."

"I'll be there," Hutch said. "Wouldn't miss it. Now get out of my way and let me see how you've wrecked my aircraft this time." He slapped Anderson on the back as the pilot headed off amidst an enthusiastic entourage for some pre-celebration celebrating.

He'd have to work double time this afternoon in order get caught up before the party but it would be worth it. Especially if Tori were there. He hadn't seen her since they'd gone to the waterfall three days ago but all he had to do was close his eyes to feel her mouth on his. Of course she'd be at the party. She usually came to all the Sheep Pen social events with Dee and Laura. There wasn't any reason to think she wouldn't be there. Right?

"Hey Pappy, I'm taking Boyle to the hospital," Casey yelled. "He says he's dizzy and has a headache."

"He has a hangover," Greg yelled back. "Dee's gonna give him an aspirin and tell you to pour some coffee in him."

Casey chuckled.

"Probably so, but Bette is on duty and I'm sure seeing her will make him feel better in a hurry."

Hutch turned to see Boyle, one hand clutching his head, the other on Casey's shoulder, staggering toward a jeep.

"Wait for me!" he yelled and leaped in behind them.

"What's wrong with you?" Greg called.

"Nothing!" he called back as the jeep pulled away. He hoped he wouldn't end up looking like a fool but there were some things a guy didn't want to leave to chance.

 **XXX**

Dee looked him up and down. Bette and Casey had steered Boyle into an exam room, so it was just the two of them in the hallway.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Is Tori around?" He hoped Dee couldn't hear his heart pounding. She'd give him no end of teasing for it.

"No. Sorry, Hutch, she was up all night assisting Dr. Reese. The _Intrepid_ sent in three boys who got torn up in an on-board explosion. She and Ellen worked a double shift to cover the surgeries and didn't come off until 5 a.m. I'm sure she's still sound asleep."

"Oh." He scratched his head. "Will you give her a message for me?"

Dee beamed.

"Of course."

"Uh, just tell her Anderson got his fifth kill this morning and the Black Sheep are having a party tonight."

Dee looked at him expectantly.

"And I hope she'll be there," he finished lamely.

Dee made a little hand gesture to indicate he should continue.

 _Oh hell._ It wasn't like he was picking Tori up at her parents' house and taking her to the spring formal. He just wanted her to come to the party. He got a grip on his thoughts, aware Dee was watching him with barely concealed amusement. He scowled at her. It was the first time he'd ever made it a point to ask a specific girl to come to a party on the base and she knew it. His other hook-ups had been just that – the result of opportunity with little forethought. Tori was neither.

"Just tell her about the party and that I said I'll put on a clean shirt. She'll understand."

Dee's eyebrows rocketed skyward.

"All right," she said slowly. "I'll tell her that."

"Thanks, Dee, you're a sweetie. I bet everything Casey's told me about you is true." He turned and bolted before she could say anything else.

 **XXX**

The angle of the sun was all wrong when Tori woke, rested but disoriented. She kicked loose of the tangled sheet and looked at her watch. 1800. Well, that explained it. She'd slept nearly 11 hours straight through after the nightmare of that 20-hour shift. She swung her feet off her bed and stretched. Her stomach growled. She'd need to hurry if she was going to make it to evening mess. Then she saw the piece of paper under her door, a full sheet, folded in half. She opened it and read Dee's familiar curvy hand:

 _T – Come see me when you wake up. Big party at the Sheep Pen tonight. Hutch wants you to come take his shirt off. D_

What the hell? Tori knew Dee well enough to read her friend's sense of humor between the lines. She dragged a brush through her hair, pulled on a clean jumpsuit and went to find her.

The dark-haired nurse was at a table in the mess hall with Laura and Kate. Tori set her tray down and joined them.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Kate teased. "Heard you pulled an all-nighter."

"Those boys are back in one piece but it took everything we had. We even used up all the available blood supplies. We need to get the guys over here for a blood drive soon." Tori waved the note in the air. "Now, what's this about?"

"Exactly what it says." Dee was all innocence. "There's a big party at the Sheep Pen tonight. Hutch was here looking for you earlier. He wants you to come and take his shirt off."

"Are you sure that's what he said?" Tori narrowed her eyes. Kate and Laura laughed. Tori thought back to the last time she'd been with John, sunlight sparkling through the rain as he kissed her, the heat of his hand stroking her hip, pulling him against her. She picked up her water glass and gulped.

"I can't remember exactly what he said." Dee shrugged. "It was something about clothes. With those boys, it's usually about taking them off."

"Dee Ryan, you are absolutely no help. What did he say, really?"

"He wanted to ask you to the party, which is pretty sweet," Dee said, sobering. "He didn't want to assume you'd come just because every other nurse who's not on shift tonight is going to be there. These fifth kill parties are huge. There's no telling what might happen at one. Just ask Kate, right?"

The correspondent gave her friend a cool look, then turned her eyes to Tori.

"The only thing that happens is everyone sticks their nose in your business," she said. "Whatever you do, just don't drink so much you fall asleep on him. That's kind of a deal-breaker. And the boys won't believe you the next morning anyway." Laura and Dee broke into laughter and by the time Kate finished telling the story, it was time to get ready for the party.

 **XXX**

Tori stood wrapped in a towel, staring at her closet's limited contents. When she learned she was coming out here, she hadn't given much thought to bringing civilian dresses. You didn't pack ball gowns when you were headed to the backside of nowhere.

The night was warm. She could wear shorts and a camp shirt but this sounded like it merited more than that. Wearing jumpsuit would be too much like being on duty. Her uniform was too . . . uniform. If she could believe Dee, it sounded like John wasn't going to show up in his usual state of casual undress. Since it was unlikely he had black tie evening wear stashed in his footlocker, that probably meant khakis. She should wear something that would complement -

 _Oh for God's sake, Bishop! Stop it_!

She gave herself a mental slap. Gone were the days when she'd agonized over dressing to make someone else look good. Every dress she'd ever worn while she was engaged to Preston had been chosen to either highlight the color of his suit or allow her to fade politely into the background while the spotlight shone on him. Those days were gone, she thought firmly. Besides, John had already seen her filthy, soaking wet and about everything in-between. The only ways he hadn't seen her were buck naked or in a civilian dress. The first option was _not_ an option for the party.

She finally decided on a dress she'd bought at the Marston Company Department Store in San Diego before shipping out here. It wasn't Chanel or Dior but she liked the simple lines. The navy blue cotton had a tiny white floral print with a low sweetheart neckline. Mother-of-pearl buttons closed a fitted bodice that fell to a Basque waistline and the loose skirt was wonderfully swishy. Her mother would have been appalled she'd bought it at a department store, not at one of the stylish boutiques where she usually shopped, but Tori remembered how she'd felt when she tried it on in the store's dressing room. The fabric draped her skin in a way that made her feel – for once – like she was wearing a garment she'd chosen to make her look good, not like she was little more than a mannequin for displaying a designer's latest style.

She dropped it over her head and tugged it into place. It fit with the same complementary grace she remembered. She fastened the buttons up the front, enjoying the smooth lines of the bodice and the way the dark blue emphasized her fair skin and copper-gold hair. She thought, suddenly, of the last time she'd stood in front of a mirror, primping before a party. It had been the night of the Covingtons' anniversary gala. She shoved the thought from her mind as she studied the neckline of her dress, biting her lip in uncertainty. It wasn't too daring, was it?

No, she decided firmly. She'd seen some of the other girls wear civilian dresses that made this one look fit for church on Sunday.

She was putting finishes touches on her hair and makeup when Dee knocked on her door and stuck her head in.

"Ready to go? Ooooh, cute dress. It shows off your boobs."

"Sure," Tori said with determined confidence as thoughts jangled through her mind. John had made a special trip to the hospital to invite her to this party. The last time she'd seen him, she'd ended up in his arms. Did this dress really show off her boobs? Oh God. You'd think she'd never been invited to a party before.

 **XXX**

The Sheep Pen was bursting at the seams with high spirits. Laughter and music greeted the girls as they walked through the door and the boys welcomed them with a level of enthusiasm that indicated some of the revelers had gotten an early start. TJ was tending bar since Bobby was the man of the hour. He was seated with one arm around Ellen, the other imitating a Corsair diving on an enemy plane. The collective impact of squadron and ground crew, polished to a shine and turned out in something other than flight suits or faded fatigues was a sight to behold. Collars were starched, trousers pressed, insignia gleaming. For one night, drinks and dancing would push the looming presence of the war into the shadows.

A hand brushed the small of her back and Tori turned to see John. He looked scrubbed within an inch of his life, shaved, hair combed, wearing field khakis. Including a shirt. She caught her breath. He cleaned up nicely, more polished than she'd ever seen him, although she had a brief, fleeting moment of regret about the shirt.

"I see you got my message." His voice was warm. "You look good, Tori."

A warm flush of pleasure rose through her. John's dark eyes sparkled as they looked her up and down and she realized, with a sense of triumph, when they lingered on her breasts she didn't feel uncomfortable. Well, hell, he'd seen her soaking wet in a T-shirt. Whatever was displayed by the dress was positively modest by comparison.

"Thank you." She looked over her shoulder at Dee and squeezed his hands. "I'm not sure the message I got was the same one you left. I would have come anyway but thanks for asking me, that was really sweet."

His grin matched hers.

"Come have a drink with us." He led her toward a table where Greg and Kate were sitting with Jim.

"You look nice, too," she said. She reached up and boldly ran her fingers over the smooth skin of his cheeks. "It looks like you stood a little closer to your razor today. And I see you _do_ own a shirt."

John slid an arm around her waist as they made their way through the crowd.

"Don't get used to it. Shaving is overrated." He touched a scraped spot on his jaw on his jaw and winced, then looked down at his shirt. "Would you like me to take it off?"

"Isn't it a little early for that?" Greg said. He poured out two glasses of Scotch and pushed them across the table. John pulled out a chair for Tori, then took his own seat.

"A little early for what?" Jim asked.

"For taking your clothes off," Greg answered. "The evening is young."

Bobby paused by their table, swaying slightly.

"This . . ." He paused and blinked owlishly. " . . . is a high class establishment," he declared. "If you're going to take your clothes off and run around naked, you'll have to do it somewhere else."

"I'm not getting naked," Jim said forlornly. "Sarah's still on Rendova. She tried getting a 24-hour pass but couldn't make it happen. What about you, Katie? You plannin' to take your clothes off later?"

"My plans are none of your business," Kate said coolly but the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile.

"How about you, Tori?" Jim's grin was too infectious to be annoying.

"That is none of your business either," Tori said firmly. It was clear Jim had drawn a foregone conclusion about how her evening with John would end. She thought that was rather presumptuous but since the Black Sheep were involved it was a safe bet that many of the couples at the party would end up in secluded places, wearing substantially less than they were now.

"Looks like you two gentlemen have your work cut out for you tonight," Jim observed.

"I didn't say my clothes weren't coming off," Kate said tartly. "I said it wasn't any of your business."

"When has that ever stopped me? Tori, I'll raise a glass to you – you've managed to pull Hutch off the line more in the last month than we've ever seen before. Guess he's decided he'd rather have his hands on something a little softer and sweeter." Jim tipped his glass toward her. "I'd say he's made a fine choice."

Tori blinked, totally unprepared for the ribald teasing. She was aware her mouth was open but there were no words in it.

John stepped hastily into the gap.

"Would you like to dance?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Tori took his hand and let him lead her onto the small dance floor. "Really, is anything off limits with them?" She waved her hand to encompass the Black Sheep in general, then let it rest on his shoulder.

"No." He shook his head. "Nothing. They'll go full auto on just about anyone for anything. It's a wonder Kate hasn't shot some of them, considering the lip they give her."

Tori laughed and relaxed into the music. John led her across the floor with unexpected athletic grace. His hands were calloused but scrubbed clean and he held her as if she were made of spun glass.

"You dance wonderfully," he said, "let me guess – you took lessons?"

"Yes. At the – "

" - country club," he finished for her.

"Anything wrong with that?" She pretended to be offended but she wasn't and they both knew it.

"Not a thing. Is there anything you _haven't_ taken lessons for?"

"John!"

"Just kidding!" He spun her away, effectively ending the topic.

When he pulled her back to him, she said, a little breathlessly, "What about you? Where'd you learn to dance?"

"I grew up in a house with three women. My sisters always wanted someone to practice with before every school dance." He rolled his eyes. "Resistance was futile." He ran a hand up and down her back, stopping just short of stroking her hip. "But dancing with you isn't quite the same."

The look in his eyes sent a thrill of heat through her. She was suddenly all too aware of his hand on her waist and the fact that the distance between the two of them had disappeared to almost nothing.

"You really look lovely tonight." He slid his index finger along her jaw. His touch was light, his finger barely brushing her skin, and she realized with sudden clarity how sensual the simplest touch could be. And how badly she wanted him to touch her. The idea was arousing and terrifying at the same time.

"Thank you," she said softly, leaning into the caress.

"She might be your girl now but you've monopolized her long enough, let someone else have a turn."

She recognized TJ's friendly tone. John handed her over to him, winked and cut in on Greg who was dancing with Kate. Greg, in turn, cut in on Casey and Dee. Like most of the other boys, TJ proved to be a more than adequate dancer and had no designs on her beyond simply enjoying the music. She noticed, no matter who she danced with, they all treated her with the respect reserved for another guy's girl and while they flirted shamelessly, their hands never strayed and their comments, while teasing, weren't overtly crude. She wasn't sure when it had happened but it was clear she'd been stamped as Hutch's girl. The thought rushed to her head like the bubbles in champagne, leaving her almost dizzy.

The evening spun itself out in a web of music and drinking and Tori flung herself with abandon into the spirited celebration. The party embraced not only the squadron's newest ace but the camaraderie of all the pilots and the nurses who shared their lives on this island, just a hair's breadth away from the war's front lines.

As the clock neared midnight, Tori noticed a number of couples had disappeared, including the guest of honor and Ellen, as well as Kate and Greg. Dee was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Casey. Tori wondered briefly how she was going to get back to the nurses' quarters then decided to worry about it later. Jimmy Dorsey's "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" was playing on the jukebox. She felt amazingly clear-headed, swaying to the music, her head on John's chest.

"Would you like to get out of here?" His breath was warm against her ear. "Or do you want to close this party down?"

She pulled back far enough to meet his eyes.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Come with me."

They slid quietly out of the crush of dancers and Tori felt like every eye in the room was on them as they stepped through the door into the tropical night. She took his arm and they strolled slowly away from the Sheep Pen.

"Where are we going? Or is this another surprise?"

John led her to a jeep, turned and took both her hands in his. His eyes were dark in the dim light spilling from the Sheep Pen and shadows cast the lines of his face in relief. He looked dark and wild and good.

Tori caught her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it. If she went with him, she was saying yes to whatever he had in mind. Did she want to say yes? The flood of emotion cascading through her was so overwhelming she wasn't sure she could say anything. She was ready. She wasn't ready. She didn't know what she was.

He read her hesitation.

"I know a great place on the beach to build a fire. We can get away from all those yahoos." He nodded behind him where a loud, off-key rendition of the Marine Corps Hymn resounded.

"All right." Her voice sounded uncertain, even to her ears.

"Tor." He pulled her into his arms. She didn't resist. "I just want to be alone with you where the whole damn base isn't watching. Just the two of us . . . that's all. Do you trust me?"

"You're a Black Sheep," she blurted before she could stop herself. Then, "I'm sorry . . . that's not what . . . oh . . . damn it . . . yes, I trust you."

He held her eyes in the dim light.

"Sweetheart, I promise to be on my best behavior."

That was what she was afraid of. His best behavior had a way of catching her unawares and that's when she ended up doing things she didn't expect.

"I'll hold you to it," she said in her best professional voice.

"Yes, ma'am, you do that."

He dodged her swat and handed her into the passenger side of the jeep, then slid into the driver's seat. He steered the jeep unhurriedly toward the beach, winding through shallow water and across spits of land until they reached a stretch of smooth sand. The raucous sounds of the party faded, replaced by the soft pounding of the surf along a natural breakwater several hundred yards offshore. The moon glinted on the water, casting the night in molten silver. John stretched his arm across the back of her seat, tickled her neck, then downshifted and pulled the jeep to a stop.

"Ever been out here?" he asked.

She looked around. They were several miles from the base. The place was secluded, all right.

"A couple of times, with Dee and some of the girls on afternoons off. But we didn't come this far out."

He walked around to her side.

"Take your shoes off."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You first."

He leaned against the fender, pulled off boots and socks and rolled his trousers to his knees.

"Happy?"

Tori kicked off her pumps, glad she hadn't bothered with stockings in deference to the tropical heat. Taking her hand, John started toward the water. Tori pulled back, protesting.

"The last time I got near water with you, I ended up in it! With my clothes on!"

He chuckled.

"I said you could take them off."

"I thought you were going to be on your best behavior!"

He slid his arm around her waist.

"I thought you were going to trust me."

She relented and let him lead her across the sand and into the surf. The water was surprisingly warm, splashing around their ankles as they walked along the shoreline. They strolled slowly, the waxing moon illuminating a landscape drawn as a two-dimensional pencil sketch.

Stopping, John raised his hand and pointed to the sky.

"See that? The Big Dipper? There's an Iroquois legend that says the stars in the bowl of the dipper form a bear and the stars in the handle are the hunters."

"Uh-huh," Tori answered. "In the autumn, the blood from the bear's arrow wounds drips onto the trees and turns them red and brown."

He looked surprised.

"How does a city girl from Grosse Pointe know about the Bear and the Three Hunters? No, wait, let me guess, you took constellation identification lessons."

"You are impossible!" She made to slap his chest and he caught her wrists, holding her motionless, then lowered his head and kissed her.

The kiss was unexpected and all the more perfect for it. His mouth was gentle but not hesitant and heat rippled through her body in little waves that made her want it to never end.

John broke it off and pulled back. He didn't say anything, just smiled that pirate's grin and held her in the heat of his eyes.

"How impossible am I?"

"Completely."

He kissed her again, his mouth warm and rough on hers. Her lips parted, tentatively at first, then she let her tongue flick across his. His hands shifted, stroking down her back and pulling her closer. She lost track of time, aware only of the heat of his body against hers, the sensual pressure of his mouth and the water surging around her feet. She'd never been kissed like this, never let a boy overwhelm her senses to the point of losing conscious thought. Her response rose to meet his, letting the kiss deepen until she thought she might melt from the intensity of it.

"Come on – fish are nibbling my toes." His words were a breath against her ear and she jerked back to reality. She swallowed, willing her knees to stop trembling. He was doing it again – taking her by surprise, taking her places she'd never been, then backing away, leaving her mind spinning and her body confused. A fish could have chewed off her whole foot and she wouldn't have noticed.

He twisted his fingers in hers as they walked back on the cool, packed sand. As they neared the jeep, John bent and picked up a piece of driftwood lying above the waterline. He handed it to Tori. She took it, raising her eyebrows.

"Is this some odd Black Sheep ritual?" she said drily. "You kiss me, then you give me driftwood?"

"Firewood," he said, picking up a few more nearby sticks. "I told you I knew a great place for a fire. This is one of the best places on the island for driftwood washing ashore. You don't have to go very far to find enough. I'll let you help, since you've probably taken fire building lessons, too."

By the time they got back to the jeep, they had collected a sizeable amount of driftwood. John dropped his armload and began arranging it. Tori added hers to the pile and took a seat on the trunk of a fallen rosewood tree nearby. The wood was bleached colorless and worn smooth by the elements. He looked over his shoulder.

"You're not going to come tell me how to do it?"

"No," she said. "I like the view from here." She studied his back side, not trying to hide her interest.

"You've been hanging around Kate too long," he muttered.

Tori heard the crackle of flames and saw orange tongues of fire start to lick through the branches. John made a few more adjustments, adding bigger logs as the fire took off. She could feel her hair dancing on the currents of heated air. A cloud of embers sparkled like fireflies as they soared skyward.

He detoured to the jeep for a blanket, spread it over the ground and dropped onto it. He leaned back against the tree trunk, his head level with Tori's thigh as she stretched out her legs. The flames painted the night with wildly dancing color.

"Think it's big enough?" she commented drily.

He grinned.

"Size matters."

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

He chuckled, clearly enjoying her embarrassment.

"This is nothing. A few months ago, the boys built a bonfire out here they could probably see in Tokyo. _That_ was a night to remember."

"John?" She knew she sounded awkward and hated herself for it but she had to know. "Do you . . . bring a lot of girls out here?"

He was quiet for a long minute and Tori realized she was holding her breath. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. And she didn't know why she cared. It wasn't fair to ask him things like that while she guarded her own past so fiercely.

"No. Hardly ever."

"Why not?"

He clasped his hands behind his head and looked up at her.

"Because I never have time for it. When I have, it was mostly the girls' idea. They just wanted . . ." He looked sheepish. " . . . to . . . you know."

He sounded almost shy, so unlike the other boys who never stopped boasting about their conquests. It was what she wanted to hear, but now that she'd heard it, she wasn't sure what to do.

"Oh really?" She tried to sound skeptical but having heard the talk in the nurses' quarters, she knew better. The girls were just as much to blame for instigating beach trysts as the men. "And you didn't?"

"I didn't say that, sweetheart." His voice was honest and the unexpected endearment made her belly gave a little flip.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire. The sky was a vast arc of diamond-sprinkled black velvet. The only sounds were the crackle of the burning logs and the soft noise of the ocean.

"You build a nice fire," Tori said, chin on her hands as she gazed into the flames.

"We used to camp a lot at my grandparents' farm," he answered. "We'd sit up half the night around a fire. That's where I learned the constellations. See that one there – the three bright stars in a vertical row - "

A rogue breeze lifted her skirt, whipping it over her thighs. Tori grabbed wildly as it threatened to take wing and finally captured the fabric in an ungainly bunch in her lap. She started to tug it down but John caught her hand.

"Don't," he said quietly. "You have beautiful legs." She didn't say anything. He moved his hand to her bare thigh. She quivered. He stroked her knee, slid his hand down her calf to circle her ankle with his fingers. She tensed but didn't pull away. His touch was everything she'd imagined.

"You were talking about constellations," she said.

"I was talking about your legs." He didn't take his eyes off her. "You're too far away up there. Come down here." He patted the blanket next to him.

"Why? I can see the stars just fine here."

He squeezed her ankle.

"The view is better from down here."

She shifted off the log onto the blanket next to him. John slid his arm around her shoulders, snugging her close. The fire had burned down now, the madly dancing flames replaced by a softer glow.

"Is this what you had in mind?" She tilted her face toward his. He chuckled.

"You're alone with me on the beach and for once, there's no one around for miles. What do you think I have in mind?"

"I thought you were going to be on your best behavior."

"I am." He lowered his head and kissed her. Tori lost herself in the embrace as he pressed her gently down onto the blanket, aware only of the light pressure of his body against hers. His mouth was slow, brushing her lips, tracing her jawline to the hollow of her throat. She trembled, uncertain, and felt him pause until she relaxed.

He stretched out next to her, one hand sliding gently down her back and across her hips to stroke her outer thigh. She felt the now familiar rough warmth of his fingers as he slid his hand higher, pushing her skirt up in a delicious tangle.

He moved his hand from her leg to trace a finger along her collarbone, then down to unfasten the top button on her bodice. She tensed again and he paused. Then he was kissing her and her mind went wonderfully blank, her body relaxing under his touch.

He eased open another button, ran his index finger between her breasts. The last time a man had touched her it had been an act of violence, taking without her consent, but here, on this beach on the edge of the war, John's hands were beyond anything she'd dreamed, easy and gentle, leaving her wanting more.

She heard herself moan as he rolled her gently onto her back, one hand cupping her breast, his fingers hot through the thin fabric of her dress. His mouth was on her neck, moving lower as his hand opened another button. His touch amplified the warm breeze skimming over newly bare skin.

 _You can't build a relationship on lies. You owe it to him to tell him the truth._

A vision of Admiral Grier pushing her roughly against the wall, hands hard and groping, flashed in her mind's eye. She heard fabric tearing, felt herself struggling to escape, felt the burst of pain as her head connected with the armrest of the loveseat. Adrenaline burned through her, fueling the terror-laced flashback. She jerked away, unable to reconcile memory with the here and now no matter how desperately she tried.

"Stop. Please." Her voice was little than a whisper.

His hand stilled and for one horrible moment he didn't move. Then he slowly pulled back from her. She gathered herself into a sit and clasped her arms around her legs. Her breath was coming in gulps, her heart pounding frantically against her ribs. She didn't want this to stop but there were too many things she hadn't told him. He deserved the truth and she knew she would only see Grier's face, feel his uninvited touch, until the deception no longer hung between them.

"Tori." John's voice was low, etched with confusion. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I thought this was what you wanted."

"I do." She swallowed hard. "It is. But I can't. I just can't."

Emotion twisted through her, slicing like a razor. She didn't want any ugliness to spoil this night, with the glow of the fire and the wonderful clean sweep of the sky overhead but until she told him why she'd really come to the South Pacific, the unspoken lie and its lingering darkness would spread like a stain, ruining anything it touched.

She took a deep breath.

"There's something I have to tell you."

"You're not married, are you?" The dry humor in his voice barely masked his lingering confusion. "And you joined the Navy to get away from Percival St. Charles the Fourth?"

"No." She wanted to take his hands but was afraid he'd pull away when he heard the truth and she couldn't bear it. "I'm not out here because I volunteered."

He regarded her.

"What other way is there to get out here? They didn't start drafting women when I wasn't looking, did they?"

She laughed, a small, hurt sound.

"No. I'm not married and I didn't get drafted." She took a deep breath. "If it had been up to me, I never would have left the States. I never wanted to serve in a front area and I didn't volunteer for any of it. I feel like I've been lying to you since the first day we met."

Haltingly, she told him about the attempted rape and General Moore's carefully orchestrated cover-up. She didn't hold back the disgust she felt at being assaulted or her contempt for the knife's edge she'd been forced to walk as she made a decision between justice and her reputation. John didn't interrupt. He was silent as her words spilled out. She felt the last filthy smudges of Grier's hands rise with the flames and vanish as she retold the story.

Her voice was raw with emotion when she finished. Trembling but dry-eyed, she felt like she'd been scoured hollow. If he hated her for letting him believe she was something she wasn't, at least they'd part without secrets.

John didn't say anything for a long time. A log collapsed in the fire, sending sparks snapping and hissing. Finally, he spoke.

"You hit him over the head with a _what_?"

"A stirrup cup."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a fox hunting tradition - a decorative goblet you drink from before a hunt. While you're on your horse."

He looked baffled.

"Why would you want to do that? If I were on a horse, I don't think I'd want anything to drink."

His look of genuine disbelief made her laugh. She reached out, pressing her hand over his. He shifted and for a moment, she was terrified he was going to pull away but he twisted his fingers around hers and squeezed. His hand was an anchor, holding her stable in the rushing current of emotion that still threatened to capsize her.

"I just . . . I just couldn't let you go on thinking I was some kind of brave, patriotic volunteer. I'm not. I was scared and hurt and coming out here was nothing more than running away. It was just an escape, nothing else. I just wanted to get away from what had happened."

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

"You're not a runner, Tori. You put your family ahead of your own peace. I don't think you ran away from anything. I think you faced it head on and did what you thought was right."

They sat for a moment, not speaking.

"Is there anything else you think I should know?" He sounded cautious, like a man defusing a bomb.

She considered.

"I drink too much coffee. I don't mind letting dogs sleeping on the bed," she said at length. "And I'm not a virgin." She added the last bit a little defiantly.

He chuckled and squeezed the back of her neck.

"I'm not either, sweetheart."

She met his grin, grateful for that irreverent sense of humor to ease the emotions still running close to the surface. They sat, the night weaving itself around them.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

The angles of his face were defined by the firelight.

"When I said no, you stopped. You have no idea what that means." She fell into his arms and he caught her as she buried her face in his neck. "I couldn't let you think I was something I'm not. I couldn't let you . . . us . . . " She brushed a hand over her bodice, aware she was close to spilling out of her dress, " . . . let this happen until I told you."

John cupped her face in his palm.

"Tor, you are the most amazing woman I've ever met."

She snorted, then laughed, hiccupping.

"You're pulling my leg again."

"I am not. You're beautiful and brave and honest and you put everyone else's feelings above your own. You didn't have to tell me. It's none of my business."

She shook her head slowly.

"I had to tell you. It wasn't right, you not knowing. And . . ." she gulped. "And when you touched me, I had this awful flashback to that night and, John, I'm not ready to do this. I want to but I just can't right now."

He kissed her firmly, then gripped her shoulders and lifted her back into a sit. He slowly began to re-button her bodice.

"We'll have another night together." The certainty in his voice quelled the churning mess in her heart.

"You're not going to feed me the Black Sheep's 'What are you waiting for, we could all die tomorrow' line?"

He chuckled.

"As much as I'd like to, no. The worst thing that's going to happen tomorrow is a bunch of boys with thumping hangovers. No one's going to die." He finished the last button, dropped his hand to her waist and groaned theatrically. "Do you know how hard that was?"

She looked down at her dress, then back at him, puzzled. He reached up and gently cupped one breast. She didn't pull away.

"With some guys it's legs, with some guys it's backsides, with me . . ." he shrugged and leaned forward to kiss the tops of her breasts. "And yours are beautiful."

"John Hutchinson, you are truly impossible."

"You keep telling me that." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down next to him. "Do you want to go back to your quarters?"

"No."

"Do you want to go back to the party?"

"No."

"What _do_ you want?" Underlying warmth derailed his stern tone.

"Can we just stay here? All night?" Tori curled into him, letting her body fit against his. She never wanted to leave the security of his arms. She'd told him the long overdue truth and he'd gathered up the whole troubled mess of her and held her close. This was what Dee had been talking about – trusting a man enough to fall sleep with him.

"So now you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes. No! Well . . . yes . . . just not now." She broke off in reluctant laughter.

"We can stay here, if that's really what you want."

"It is."

They lay, curled together, watching as the fire burned to embers. Neither of them rose to build it back up.

"You realize those boys aren't going to believe either of us in the morning if we tell them nothing happened out here," John said quietly.

"I kind of figured that, from what Kate and Dee have told me."

He chuckled.

"And what did they tell you? Or should I ask?"

"You shouldn't ask." She paused. "Dee said I should tell you, though, about . . . everything. She was right."

"Who else knows the whole story?"

"General Moore, since he was there. Lieutenant Commander Delmonte only knows what Moore put in my file and that's kind of a mix of truth and fabrication. Dee and all the girls know what happened."

"You girls have talked about this?"

She rolled up on an elbow.

"We talk about everything."

"Everything? Like what?"

"Like things you guys talk about, only in reverse. Girl things." She poked him gently in the chest.

"I'm not even going to pretend to understand that."

"Dee and Kate don't talk much about Casey and Greg but the other girls? It's open season." She shook her head. "I know things about those boys I never needed to know."

He chuckled.

"For instance?"

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it.

"No, I just can't. You'd hear things you don't want to hear either. Change the subject."

"What do you miss most from home?"

She blinked.

"You said 'change the subject.' I did."

She closed her eyes and let her mind lose itself in memory, grateful for the change to a subject that nothing to do with sex.

"Strawberries," she said finally.

"Strawberries?"

"Yeah. Over ice cream. With angel food cake and whipped cream. Plain." She paused. "I'm going to start drooling and that won't be attractive. What about you?"

"Fireflies."

"What?" She hadn't been expecting that.

"Yeah. Sitting on my grandparents' back porch in the summer, watching the fireflies. I don't know why there aren't any out here. This place has every other kind of bug known to God."

"Fireflies," she repeated in disbelief. "You are a closet romantic!"

He chuckled.

"Maybe I am. They remind me of when things were simple, before the war. Before everything got crazy."

They lay in comfortable silence.

"What do you want to do when the war's over?" he asked.

"I enjoy nursing, I really do," Tori said contemplatively, "but I don't know if I could go back to working in a civilian hospital after this. To tell you the truth, I was almost bored to tears at Bethesda."

"What else would you do?"

"I have no idea. I like to draw. Paint. Do artsy stuff. I was supposed to marry well and not _do_ anything." She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure my parents thought the whole nursing deal was a temporary thing, like sowing my wild oats, then I'd come back to the fold and behave."

"Will you?"

"Go back to the fold or behave? I think it's too late for either one." She sighed, aware her words were uncomfortably true. She knew her parents wouldn't disinherit her if she didn't bend to their will but she was unsure what awaited her after the war, just the same. "What about you?"

"I don't know either. I'm on my second enlistment already," he mused.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I re-upped and landed out here when Greg put the Black Sheep together. Now I kinda feel like I'm in it until this mess is over. After that, I dunno. My dad and me, we talked about opening our own garage – repairs, towing, that sort of thing. Maybe getting out of the city, going up by where my grandparents live. Then Pearl happened and I quit thinking about tomorrows." She felt him shrug in the darkness.

An icy finger poked at her, uninvited. She pushed it away. A lot of boys didn't get tomorrows. It hadn't happened to the Black Sheep while she'd been on La Cava but casualties from other units had come into the hospital. One minute a warm, living body, struggling to maintain that delicate balance between this world and the next, then in a heartbeat, a white sheet over a still form and somewhere, a CO writing a letter to parents who would never see their son again.

John must have felt her shiver. He shifted on the blanket and pulled her closer.

"Never mind tomorrow," he said. "Nothing will happen that we can't handle."

Tori closed her eyes and let herself believe him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Life changes in a heartbeat**

 **Vella La Cava**

 **0530**

USMC blankets were not big enough. Or maybe it was just that they were not meant to cover two people at once. No matter how Tori shifted, some part of her was sticking out, either a toe or a shoulder. The sun was a hint of pale rose glowing on the horizon and the breeze off the ocean was cool. She drew her legs up and nestled against the warmth of John's body.

"Stop wiggling."

His voice was rough with sleep but she could hear his smile in the words. He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed until she stopped.

"Sorry." She cradled her head on his arm, wishing time would stand still, that the sun wouldn't come up, that she could stay here with him in this warm cocoon and pretend the war didn't exist. They lay, entwined, as the sun inevitably rose, splashing the sky with gilded lavender.

John looked at his watch, groaned and sat up, pulling the blanket with him and throwing a lot of cool air on her fantasy. She protested, pulling the blanket back. He scrubbed a hand over his face, looked at her and grinned.

"What?" She wasn't sure if she should be indignant.

"You." His voice softened. "The first day I saw you, I never dreamed I'd be waking up with you." His grin grew broader as he studied her rumpled dress. "Well, yeah, I _did_ dream about waking up with you but there were a lot less clothes involved."

"You're as impossible this morning as you were last night!" She tried to act offended but failed as his admiring look took in her skirt, which was kilted up nearly to her hips. Two buttons on her bodice had come open as she slept. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what he would do if she unbuttoned it the rest of the way and invited him back down next to her. But she couldn't. Not yet.

"Come on," he said, rising and holding his hands out. "I'll get you back to your quarters before someone misses you." He pulled her easily upright. "Wait. Let me." He re-buttoned her dress, shaking his head. "I can't believe I keep putting your clothes back on," he muttered. She saw the glint in his eye and gave his waist an affectionate squeeze.

They gathered the blankets and their shoes and drove, unspeaking, through the soft, cool light back to the hospital. When John pulled up at the back door to the nurses' quarters, Tori leaned across the seat and squeezed his hand as it rested on the gear shift.

"Thank you."

"You keep saying that. For what?" He took his hand off the shifter and cupped her face. She felt the strength of his fingers echo in her bones.

"For being you."

"I'll see you later, sweetheart." He kissed her. The sun broke through the low dawn clouds, a stray shaft brushing him with gold. She drank it in, that thousand-watt smile, the rough shadow of stubble over the hard planes of his face, the tousled dark hair.

"See you later."

She grabbed her shoes and ran for the door.

 **XXX**

Tori stepped into the cool dimness of the corridor and turned the corner to her room.

"How was your first time on the beach?"

She jumped. Dee laughed and leaned against the wall outside her door, a mug of coffee in one hand.

"What are you doing up so early?" Tori returned, going evasive.

"I just kicked Casey out of here." She yawned leisurely and waved at Tori's dress. "You've got sand all over your skirt."

"I've got sand everywhere."

"Amateur. You'll get the hang of it after a few times."

"No! It wasn't like that."

"Really?" Dee's eyebrows illustrated her doubt. "Here." She handed Tori the coffee. "You look like you need this more than I do. I got to sleep in a bed last night." She grinned broadly. "Okay, I got to spend the night in a bed."

Tori took the coffee gratefully. She and John hadn't slept much. They'd stayed up, watching the stars slide across the vault of the heavens and talking – about strawberries and fireflies and going home to things that would never be the same again - until they both fell asleep. She inhaled the steam wafting off the mug and took a blissful sip.

"Want to tell me about it?" Dee's expression was cheerfully nosy.

"There's nothing to tell," Tori protested. "We didn't . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Mmmm?"

"We didn't do anything . . . almost . . . anything."

"Mmmm? Define _almost_."

"I told him about Grier. Finally."

"Good for you, Tor. How'd that go?"

Tori paused.

"He was wonderful. I mean, I know it wasn't what he expected when we went out there. But he listened. And when I was done telling him every miserable, sorry, angry detail of my soul he wasn't like some guys would have been, you know, okay, whatever, now will you please take your panties off so we can get on with this? He said we'd have another night together. I think he was grinding his teeth when he said it but he didn't push me for anything."

Dee laughed.

"That sounds exactly like Hutch. I think working between Micklin and Greg has given him the patience of a saint."

Tori leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

"He probably thinks I'm some kind of emotional time bomb," she groaned. "I mean, things were going great . . . really great . . . God, Dee, his hands, you have no idea . . . then all of a sudden I'm having flashbacks and seeing Grier's face and having a meltdown. I'm a mess, an absolute mess."

"I don't think you are," Dee said, appraisingly. "And when you told him no, he listened. Tori, that's what real men do when they care more about your feelings than theirs."

Tori took a long sip of coffee.

"Thanks." She lifted the mug. "I'm going to shower. Swear to God I don't know where all this sand came from."

 **XXX**

After dropping Tori at the hospital, Hutch figured he had a couple of hours before the Black Sheep achieved any state of consciousness. It wasn't like he was trying to avoid them but he knew they were going to be locked and loaded and gunning for details. What he and Tori had done on the beach last night wasn't any of their damn business but that wouldn't stop them. He grinned wryly. What comes around, goes around. He'd spent his share of time teasing the other boys about their nocturnal activities, either on the beach or elsewhere. He had it coming.

A thin stream of smoke near the mess tent indicated the cook was functional. Hutch pulled the jeep over and ducked in for a mug of coffee. There was a coffee pot in the mechanics' shed but it was a temperamental thing and he wasn't in the mood to finesse it this morning. He filled a steel thermos, grabbed a clean mug off the rack and got back in the jeep.

"Hey, Hutch!"

He turned to see Jim sauntering toward him. Damn. He didn't want to deal with any of the boys right now. The scent of Tori's skin lingered on his clothes and he just wanted to sit and drink his coffee and think about what the hell had happened last night. Or not happened. Well. No. He didn't want to think about that at all. Damn it. She'd been assaulted, almost raped and chose to move 6,000 miles away from her family, to the middle of a war zone, to ensure their names didn't get drug through the mud in the papers. If that didn't make a guy rethink things, he didn't know what would.

"What are you doing up this early, Gutterman?" he grumbled. "Figured you'd still be sacked out."

Jim leaned against the jeep and scratched his head.

"Naw. Parties aren't as much fun when you're by yourself. I sat back and watched everyone else get plastered." He chuckled. "What are you doin' up at this hour? It's pretty early for someone who didn't get any sleep last night."

"Who says I didn't get any sleep?" Hutch countered evenly. _And here it comes,_ he thought.

"We all saw you leave with Tori. The way the two of you were looking at each other? Naw, you didn't go to the beach to sleep. Come on, son, tell it."

"Nothing to tell."

"Nothing to tell or you just aren't telling?" Jim studied him. Hutch just grinned. He couldn't help it. He wouldn't have told even if there'd been anything to tell but Jim didn't need to know that.

"Damn it. You're as bad as Greg. I never can get him to talk about Kate. He just grins like you."

"Good. Then you're used to it. We spent the night on the beach and that's all you need to know, _son_."

Jim gave up and changed the subject.

"You got time to double check the feeder chain on my starboard guns before we go up today?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. Catch ya later."

Hutch put the jeep into gear and drove through the still-sleeping camp. Jim's starboard guns were the last thing on his mind. The feeling that had taken root the day Tori threw him the football had grown into something he couldn't ignore anymore. She was funny and gorgeous and intense and for reasons he would never understand, she liked him. If her initial response last night was any indication, she liked him a lot.

But no meant no. His dad made that clear when he starting dating in high school. Greg made it clear during a conduct lecture in the early days of the squadron. Forcing a girl to do anything against her will was unacceptable. He wanted Tori like he wanted his next breath but he wouldn't push it. He wanted her to want him with a matching desire, not just a lukewarm acquiessence or, worse yet, giving her permission but failing to be an equal participant. He could still feel the beat of her heart against his fingers as he re-buttoned her dress, her trust fluttering in his hands like a wounded bird.

He'd never felt this way about a girl before. Earning that trust was worth every bit of discomfort she'd caused him last night. He sighed. No amount of denial on his part was going to stop the 214's brutally efficient grapevine from having a heyday with this. He'd spent the night with Tori on the beach and that was all that mattered. The Black Sheep loved a happy ending, even if it only existed in their imagination.

 **XXX**

 **That afternoon**

The Black Sheep were over the Slot on a late day patrol when a partial squadron of Japanese fighters struck La Cava. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything but a carefully orchestrated plan and Hutch knew it supported Greg's theory the raiders were launching from a nearby base where spotters could keep tabs on the unit's comings and goings.

Only this time, Greg was ready. He'd sent Casey up to lead the patrol and held two planes back. He and Bobby Boyle waited.

Wary of the base's amped up gun placements, the raiders made a single sweep across the camp in a hot lead rain of destruction. As the Zeroes started to climb with no sign of circling back, Greg scrambled out of the foxhole and raced toward the line, Bobby right behind him.

Hutch knew this was the opportunity Greg had been waiting for and had both planes cranked over before the pilots got to the cockpits. Cylinders coughed and caught with an explosive roar of horsepower.

Greg vaulted into his bird and pulled on his flight harness.

"Hang on, your canopy's off the track!" Hutch shouted, cursing yet another miniscule detail that cost the pursuers precious time.

He sprinted back to the mechanics' shed and rummaged through the miscellany of tools on the workbench. Grabbing a short crowbar, he dashed back. Squinting to avoid the dust storm kicked up by the prop, he leaped onto the wing of the plane. Greg adjusted his headgear as Hutch jammed the pry bar under the canopy runner and with a fast, practiced motion popped it back into the track. He leaped to the ground, pulled the chocks and flashed a thumbs up.

"Good hunting!"

Greg swung the fighter off the line and powered down the airstrip, Bobby right behind him. Hutch watched as both birds lifted into the sky. With any luck, the two of them could get a fix on the raiders' secret base and put an end to this before the 214 went belly up. The raiders may have only sent a partial squadron this time but their attack had been calculated to strike where it would hurt the most. He glanced around at the burning remnants of what had been a jeep. Beyond it, the stack of 50-gallon drums that held part of the squadron's engine oil had been reduced to a smoking ruin.

Lost in thought, he jogged toward the mechanics' shed where Corporal Richardson was wrestling with a fire extinguisher as big as he was. Around him, ground personnel were already assessing the damage and starting salvage operations. The 214 wasn't going to stay in business much longer at this rate. Every time the raiders hit, they took a little bigger bite. Hutch knew half the requisitions Micklin and Greg sent to Espritos didn't make it past Colonel Lard's desk. How could they keep the unit combat ready when they couldn't even get the minimal parts they requested for maintenance, let alone replacing things that had been completely destroyed?

None of the men said it out loud but they all knew it was just a matter of time until the Japanese quit screwing around with the base and went after the hospital. It had happened before, in other areas. They wanted this island back and they wanted it badly. In spite of the red crosses painted on the hospital's roof, the Japanese wouldn't hesitate to call a strike on the compound. There weren't any gun placements there and no hope of defense against an air assault.

Caught up in his thoughts, Hutch didn't hear the rogue plane until it was too late. The roar of the Zero's engine jerked him back to reality and he bolted for the nearest foxhole as the Japanese pilot took aim at the now-unsuspecting men focused on clean-up detail. Dirt and small stones stung his skin as the blazing guns kicked up a ground storm of debris.

He was 20 feet from safety when either by luck or intention, the Japanese pilot managed to line up a shot that hit something besides dirt. The 20 mm rounds struck a stack of jerry cans and half-empty fuel drums piled near the mechanics' shed. Sparks flew as the ammo chewed into metal and in less than a second, fuel vapor ignited and one of the cans exploded. The resulting chain reaction tore the drums apart, blasting shards of jagged metal outward in a vicious web.

Even as the explosion echoed in his ears, Hutch knew he was in trouble. He could feel the heat of the flames licking his skin and launched himself through the air in a desperate, futile attempt to reach cover.

Searing pain lanced through him as razor-edged metal shards sliced into his body and he stumbled, throwing his hands up to protect his head as he fell. Skin peeled off his arms as he slid across the ground but that pain was nothing compared to the agony that erupted in his upper thigh. Holy God, it felt like a fencepost had been driven into it. He rolled, this body twisting in a futile attempt to relieve the pain, as he slid toward the now worthless protection of the foxhole.

He heard screaming, a raw, animal sound that both surrounded him and came from a distance at the same time. Micklin yelled his name. Hutch tried to call back but couldn't form the words. Someone was still screaming. He could hear it in his head. He staggered to his knees but the pain was brutal, dragging him down in a suffocating red mist. The world around him fell away in a slow motion rush of people yelling and running, Micklin falling into the dirt next to him, calling his name over and over. The pain ripped at him until he thought he'd come apart with it. Then everything went mercifully black.

 **XXX**

On duty at the hospital, Tori heard the Zeroes. Not a full squadron, she thought, maybe only half a dozen planes but their quiet slyness was almost more ominous than if it had been a full blown attack. She froze in the process of afternoon rounds, listening to the symphony of the airborne assault and ground fire from the base. Sound carried easily on the still air.

She, Dee and two other nurses grabbed their bags before Delmonte barked the order and were out the door as the all-clear signal sounded. Medics followed in ambulances behind them. It was a drill they'd rehearsed too many times.

A pall of smoke hung over the base and the all too familiar scene of destruction greeted the nurses as Dee slowed the jeep between the tents and buildings, searching for wounded personnel. The boys who were bleeding from minor injuries waved them off, intent on putting out fires and preventing further damage. Tori saw there were no planes on the line. She hoped Greg's plan to chase the raiders to their hidden base worked this time. She squinted through the haze, searching for John's familiar tall form. Dee was still driving slowly, steering around the wreckage left by the raid. They were nearly at the line. Where was he? She should be able to see -

"Over here! I need help over here!"

She saw Sergeant Micklin, desperation etched in every line of his body as he knelt by a figure sprawled on the ground. Tori froze, an unseen fist slamming into her gut. She couldn't see the face but recognized the shock of dark hair. Then she was out of the jeep and running with Dee behind her. Both of them fell to their knees in the dirt. Tori took one horrified look at John's body and her breath caught in her throat like jagged glass. He lay face up, one arm dangling over the edge of the foxhole. His eyes were closed. Micklin's hand was pressed against his thigh, blood pumping over his fingers and trickling onto the dusty ground.

No one spoke. Tori forced her mind into the cool, detached place where she could analyze the situation. She breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. If John were dead, blood wouldn't still be pumping out of the wound. Needing confirmation, she slid two fingers under his jaw, relieved to feel a pulse. It was rapid and thready but it was confirmation of life. His upper leg was little more than mangled flesh, embedded metal shards protruding obscenely, the scarlet torrent pulsing with each heartbeat.

Without a word, Dee yanked a field dressing from her bag and slapped it into Tori's hand. She tore her eyes from John's still face to fix the thick dressing over the worst of his leg, working cautiously around the embedded shrapnel. Micklin's hand joined hers and they both kept pressure on the dressing as the ambulance driver and another medic lifted John onto a stretcher.

"Go, we've got the rest of this," one of the other nurses called and Tori and Dee climbed into the back of the vehicle. An orderly slammed the door and it lurched out of the base.

The three miles to the hospital were a nightmare. The metallic scent of blood filled the hot, confined space. Dee monitored John's vitals and put hasty bandages on the worst of the injuries to his arm and torso. Tori used both hands to press down on the dressing over his ruined leg as if she could keep his life from pumping out by sheer force of will. Every beat of his heart echoed against her hands, one more second defying death. His eyes opened and a faint smile played over his features as his gaze flicked from Tori to Dee and back.

"What did I do to deserve both of you?" he asked, his voice faint.

"You lived," Tori said grimly. "Don't stop now."

He reached for her and she gripped his hand fiercely, blood smeared and sticky on their entwined fingers.

"You look like a pin cushion. You've got more holes in you than Carters has pills."

He mumbled something unintelligible, voice fading.

"Damn you, John Hutchinson." Tori was choked with fear and anger. "You told me the worst thing that was going to happen today was a bunch of hung-over pilots. You better not have lied." She took a deep breath and backed away from the edge of hysteria. He squeezed her hand but didn't speak. She could feel him slipping away.

The ambulance careened to a halt in front of the hospital. The medics unloaded the stretcher and Tori stumbled out with it, never letting go of John's hand.

They carried him into the nearest exam room and transferred him to the table. She could feel his pulse, erratic under her fingers. His eyes were closed again.

"John? John! Stay with me! You're going to be all right. You hear me?"

Dee re-appeared and handed Tori a pair of scissors.

"Get his pants off. I've got to start an IV line."

Tori reluctantly let go of his hand and moved to the foot of the table to begin cutting off his fatigues. Blood dripped slowly onto the floor in a steady patter, crimson against gray tile. Tori gave up with the scissors, gripped both sides of the torn cloth and ripped the pant leg from ankle to groin.

"How bad is it?" John's voice was so low Tori had to lean close to hear him. He fumbled for her hand and she gripped his. "You're sure in a big hurry to get my pants off."

"It's just a scratch, Marine," she said. "You've gotten hurt worse in the Sheep Pen."

She was rewarded with a slight smile but his eyes stayed closed. She saw his throat work as he tried to speak but the words didn't make it past his lips, as if he couldn't summon the energy.

"Damnit, John, if you die on me I'll kill you," she threatened and felt his fingers squeeze tight on hers.

Doc Reese bolted into the room, rolling up his sleeves.

"What have we got?"

"Severe shrapnel trauma to the upper thigh. Superficial wounds to the arm and chest." Tori was surprised how calm her voice was. She stepped aside as Reese moved in. He gave John a cursory exam without touching him, then cranked on the tap and began scrubbing his hands.

"Blood pressure's dropping, pulse is erratic. He's going into shock," Dee said, pulling the ends of a stethoscope from her ears.

"Prep him for surgery." Reese eyed the red stain soaking through the pressure bandage. "Sweet bleeding Jesus, what is _that_?" He stared at the shard of metal protruding from John's upper thigh.

"I think it's part of a fuel drum, sir," Tori said. Her voice sounded mechanical and flat.

Reese swore.

"Start him on two units whole blood and pray it doesn't all pump back out."

Tori flinched as if someone had struck her.

"We're out of blood," she said. "We used the last of it on those boys from the _Intrepid_ yesterday. There hasn't been time to resupply."

Reese's head snapped around.

"Get Boyington and Casey up here on the double! They're our regular O-negative donors!"

"Casey's up with the afternoon patrol and Greg's out chasing the raiders who did this!" Dee answered. "They might not be back for hours."

"Damnit! This boy doesn't have hours. Who else have we got who can donate?"

Tori looked up, shoved hair out of her eyes with her forearm. She hadn't let go of John's hand even though he'd lost consciousness again. His fingers were unresisting against hers.

"I'm O-negative." She could feel his blood soaking through the packing, warm under her fingers as his life ebbed away.

"Ryan, you do the draw! Halvorson! Morgan! I need you to assist in surgery. Bring that unit in as soon as you've drawn it. I can't do anything until we get his pressure back up and stabilize his heart rhythm. Let's go, people!"

Two orderlies appeared and on a three-count, lifted John onto a gurney. Tori gave his hand a final squeeze, knowing he couldn't feel it, then let him go. She yanked the sleeve of her jumpsuit up, popping the buttons off the cuff in the process, and found a tourniquet. She had her arm tied off even as Dee whipped a syringe and tubing from a drawer and hung a collection bottle on a pole.

"Sit," she told Tori. "Make a fist."

Tori sank into a chair and jerked the end of the tourniquet tight with her teeth. Having something to do kept her mind off the image of John's still form as the orderlies wheeled him from the room. Dee swabbed the inside of her elbow with iodine and without hesitation, slid the 18-gauge needle into her vein.

"Think you could have found a bigger needle?" Tori said, wincing through clenched teeth. "Why not just shove a garden hose in there and be done with it?"

Dee snorted, her fingers moving deftly as she secured the needle.

"Didn't think you'd mind. The faster I can get it out of you, the faster we can get it into him. Thank God you have good veins." She grinned. "Vampires would love you."

Tori knew the joke was meant to help her relax and she appreciated it. She loosened the tourniquet. She looked at the crimson liquid flowing into the collection bottle, then back at her friend. Dee's face was a study in calm concentration.

"Squeeze," Dee ordered and gripped Tori's hand. She complied, knowing the motion would fill the bottle faster.

"He's going to be all right, you know. It's a long way from his heart and Reese is the best."

"I know." Tori's voice was barely audible. Silence wrapped the room. Suddenly, exhaustion and emotion threatened to swamp her. Hot tears burned behind her eyelids and she felt like she might dissolve into nothingness. Dee's unflappable friendship anchored her in hope. They sat, neither speaking, as the level in the bottle rose.

"He means more to you than just a good time on the beach, doesn't he?"

Tori didn't say anything for a long time.

"Yes." It was as simple as that. There was no doubt in her heart what John meant to her, but the realization was so new her mind edged around it cautiously, hesitant to give it full disclosure.

"Thought so. Keep squeezing my hand."

Neither of them spoke again. When the bottle was full, Dee pulled the needle out and slapped a gauze patch over the site. Tori automatically pressed her fingers over it.

"Don't go anywhere." Dee collected the bottle and left. Tori heard her footsteps, then the creak of the door into the operating room, a few barked orders, then silence as the door swung shut. She closed her eyes. He was in God's hands. God and Doc Reese.

Dee came back into the room. She filled a pitcher of water and set it and a glass next to Tori.

"Drink. I may have taken a little more blood than I normally would. I didn't think you'd mind but if you try to stand up right now you're going to fall over." She turned and began cleaning up the exam room. The remnants of John's blood soaked clothes lay on the floor. Ragged and torn, like he had been. _So much blood._ Tori stood to help and the room tilted alarmingly. Dee grabbed her elbow and glaring, lowered her back into the chair. "Sit down. Drink. That's an order. I'll get you something to eat in a minute."

"I can – " Tori began.

"You can not," Dee said firmly. "You're going to sit there and not do a damned thing." She glanced toward the closed door of the OR. "Except pray."

 **XXX**

 **Three hours later**

The orderlies transferred him from the gurney to the bed with smooth efficiency. Laura checked his pulse and arranged a sheet over his legs and torso.

"Doc pulled a lot of shrapnel out of that leg and reconstructed it as well as he could," she said. "One of the pieces went clear to the bone. He may walk with a limp for the rest of his life but he's going to be all right." She reached out and squeezed Tori's arm. "You okay?"

Tori looked at John, the hard angles of his face relaxed in unconsciousness. He looked impossibly young in spite of the dark stubble that covered his jaw. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll stay with him for a while," she said. "You and Dee look exhausted. Your shifts ended hours ago."

"So did yours," Laura said.

"I haven't been doing anything but sitting here since he went into surgery. Dee has me under hack. She let me stand up long enough to scrub off and change my clothes, then made me sit down again. She won't leave me alone."

"I may have drawn a little more blood from her than I should have," Dee said to Laura. "If she passes out, tell Delmonte she's got malaria or something."

"That's okay, he needed it more than I did." Tori drug a chair to the edge of the bed and slouched into it, not taking her eyes off him.

"He came through the surgery really well, all things considered," Laura said. "BP's a little high but Doc's not worried. His heart rate's good. He's out of it on morphine right now but if you want to stay – " she smiled, "I'm sure that will make you both feel better when he wakes up."

"I'll stay." There was no hesitation even though emotional exhaustion threatened, again, to swamp her like a ship in high seas. But she couldn't walk out and leave him even though she knew he'd have round the clock medical attention. Never mind that she could barely take care of herself right now. She wanted to be with him, needed the assurance of watching him breathe. Of watching him live.

"Doc Reese will be in to check on him through the night but he doesn't expect any complications. Ellen and Doreen are coming on at 2000. They'll keep a close eye on him. Are you sure you don't want to go back to your room? You look a little peely-wally," Laura queried.

"Peely-wally?" Tori managed a laugh. "Delmonte would love that diagnosis. No. I'm fine. I'll stay."

Tori heard Laura talking to Dee as they left the ward.

"She is not fine. Be sure to tell Ellen and Dorrie they're going to have to monitor both of them," she said quietly.

The ward was quiet. Outside, late evening sounds drifted through the open window. A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. Tori made herself as comfortable as she could in the straight back chair – which was to say not at all – and watched John as he slept. The only light came from the nurses' station at the other end of the room. The hard angles of his face looked smudged in the soft light, then she realized her vision was blurring with tears. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. He was alive and he would be all right. She lay her hand on the only bare patch of skin on his arm that wasn't stitched or bandaged. He was warm but not feverish.

She bit her lip, denying the tears that threatened again. The granite resolve that had set in while John was in surgery, refusing to acknowledge any outcome except life, was dissolving now and in its place came a sensation so sharp and dazzling it was almost painful. She could have lost him today, lost him just as she was starting to realize the beauty of what they shared - the unexpected discovery of two people who would have never met in the rhythm of normal life back in the States. They could have lived their entire lives within 60 miles of each other and never crossed one another's path. It had taken a covered-up scandal and a brutal war to find the man who could stop her heart with just a smile.

Images flitted through her mind – throwing him a football, taping his injured fingers, his arms around her as he pulled her to safety during the air raid, his arms around her as he threw her into the water, his arms around her as he drew her in for a kiss. The night on the beach seemed impossibly long ago but it had only been 24 hours. His eyes. His mouth. The security of his arms.

One thing was for sure. After this, she'd never be able to go home and marry a boy who'd found excuses to ride out the war without serving. Oh who was she kidding. She was never going to look at another boy anywhere. Somewhere between playing catch with a football and feeling the elation and terror of his body against hers, she'd fallen in love with a line mechanic from Flint.

 **XXX**

An hour later, Greg and Bobby stepped into the hospital. Dee stood to meet them.

"Micklin told us about Hutch when we set down. How is he?" Greg asked. He and Boyle were both still in their flight suits, disheveled but with an unmistakable air of vindication.

"He was in surgery for three hours. His leg's pretty torn up but Reese says he should heal all right." She drew a long breath. "It was touch and go for a while. We almost lost him more than once."

"Micklin thought he was a gonner. Said he figured there was more blood on the outside of him than the inside."

"Can we see him?" Bobby asked. When Dee didn't respond, he added, "We promise to behave."

Dee snorted.

"That'll be the day. Follow me. But he's sedated so he won't be able to talk to you."

"That's all right," Bobby said. "We just want to see him, you know, to know he's okay."

Dee led the men down the aisle and they stopped at the foot of the bed. Hutch lay on his back, deep in drug-induced slumber. Tori was sitting in a chair near the head of the bed. She'd slumped sideways, the upper half of her body resting on the edge of the bed, her head pillowed on one arm. Her other hand rested gently on Hutch's shoulder. The dim light glinted off the tangle of red gold hair falling across her cheek.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Dee muttered softly. "She said she was just going to sit with him for a little bit. Looks like she's out."

The three of them stood in silence for a minute.

"You're sure he'll be okay?" Greg asked. "He's the best damn mechanic we've got on this rock. And I think Lieutenant Bishop would have a hard time with it if anything happened to him."

"Reese thinks so but he's not going to be running any races for a while." Dee studied Tori. "She hasn't left him since he came out of surgery, but sitting like that's gotta be uncomfortable. Would you mind . . .?"

Greg slid an arm under Tori's legs and another around her shoulders. He lifted her off the chair and gently laid her on the adjoining bed. She stirred but didn't wake. Dee untied her boots and pulled them off, then tossed a light blanket over her.

"Did you have any luck finding those bastards?" she asked as the three of them made their way toward the door. The look of grim satisfaction on Greg's face told her all she needed to know.

"They're launching from an abandoned airstrip on one of those little no-name islands about a hundred miles northeast of here, off the coast of Choiseul," he said. "But not for much longer."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: A little TLC**

 **Vella La Cava, Navy Hospital**

"Tori?"

A hoarse voice called her name from somewhere beyond her dreams. She ignored it.

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Bishop!"

She wanted to go back to sleep but the voice wouldn't leave her alone. It kept drumming on her skull, dragging her from dreams of waterfalls and shooting stars where there was no war and everything was safe and sane and -

"Ma'am! Are you awake?"

All right, that did it. The simple fact of asking that question guaranteed there would never be a congenial answer. She would wake up long enough to find out who was bothering her and give them a piece of her mind. Then she would go back to sleep. She was so very tired, a relentless exhaustion that pulled at both body and mind, and she had no idea why. She opened her eyes to address the miscreant who insisted she join the waking world. Her brain registered early sunlight slanting through the hospital windows and her fog of lethargy vanished, replaced with explosive clarity by visions of the previous day – the raid, going to the base, John, blood everywhere –

John! Desperation clawed her senses as her memory snapped fully into place. She sat bolt upright in bed, terror slowly ebbing into confusion. What was _she_ doing in the infirmary?

A dry laugh sounded from a few feet away. Tori untangled her legs from the blanket and swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed. Rising, she swayed briefly and staggered over to collapse onto the chair at the nearby bedside. John was propped up on his elbows, studying his blanket-covered left leg and the multitude of stitches and bandages on his torso and arms.

"Good morning," she managed. The greeting seemed insufficient and not very accurate, given the circumstances.

"I've had better. What the hell happened?" His voice was perplexed, his face a mask of confusion etched with pain.

"You don't remember?" She was wide awake now, her heart thudding with adrenaline as the last 12 hours replayed themselves in an endless, high-speed loop. The unexpected, powerful realization that she loved him, rose triumphant over the lingering darkness laced with fear and blood.

"No. I don't." He looked at the neat line of sutures on his arm. "And I'm not sure I want to. I remember the raiders, sending Greg and Boyle up, Greg's canopy was jammed . . . then . . . nothing . . . really."

"Trauma does that sometimes. You'll remember when your mind is ready for it."

He studied her intently and switched tacks.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm a nurse. This is a hospital. It should be fairly self-explanatory." She shook out her hair and made a failed attempt to brush the wrinkles out of her jumpsuit, all the while trying to get a coherent grasp on the situation. She'd been in a chair, the last she remembered, unwilling to leave him even though she trusted the medical staff's skill implicitly. She had no idea where their futures lie, she only knew she needed to be near him now.

He didn't say anything, just grinned. She grinned back. She'd never known joy could have a physical presence but her body hummed with it. He was alive and they were together and that was all that mattered.

John didn't seem willing to take anything for granted.

"I'm not dead, am I?" He shifted, wincing, and muttered, "Can't be. It wouldn't hurt this damn much if I were dead."

"No, you're not dead," she assured him. "But it was a near thing." And that was why she hadn't been able to leave him last night, as if her presence was a guardian standing between him and death. Some guardian she'd been, she reflected. She'd fallen asleep.

"You're beautiful. This is the second time I've woken up with you and you're always beautiful. Am I dreaming?" He reached up and gripped her arm. The strength of his hand sent her heart soaring.

"You're not dreaming. You have a morphine hangover." She struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Do you dream about waking up with me very often, Sergeant?"

His easy smile broadened.

"What do you think, ma'am?"

"I think –" her voice broke and she couldn't hold back the tears. "I think you almost died, John." She flung herself at him, mindful of the IV line, the stitches, bandages and general damaged state of his body, and buried her face in his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips against the top of her head.

"Tell me what happened," he said. "I need to know."

 **XXX**

By the time Tori finished filling him in, the hospital had come to life around them. She couldn't remember if she was on the duty roster for the day shift or not. She couldn't remember much beyond the fear that had gripped her yesterday, only to be replaced by this euphoric chaos in her heart. She thought she'd loved Preston but it hadn't felt anything like this. Her heart felt like it was filled with champagne bubbles, rising and bursting in sparkling succession. This was insanity. She couldn't fall in love in the middle of a war.

Doc Reese appeared around the corner of the screen.

"How are my patients this morning?"

"Patients, sir?" Tori was confused.

"Yes, Lieutenant." Reese tried to look stern and failed completely. "Patients. Plural. Every time I stopped to check on Sergeant Hutchinson last night, I checked on you, too. Dee said you were a little unsteady after she drew blood yesterday."

"Oh." Unsteady? That was one word for it. Right up to the point where she must have fallen asleep in the chair, she'd been a complete train wreck. She still wasn't sure how she'd ended up in the adjoining bed and was a little afraid to ask. Waking up somewhere and not being able to remember how you got there was a trademark Black Sheep behavior. Was she that far gone? She only knew she would have fought the devil himself if Old Scratch had tried to separate her from John's side.

Reese had already moved on to asking John the myriad of questions doctors ask in endless routine. Tori found her socks and boots and put them on. She sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, thinking she should head back to her quarters to change into something that didn't look like she'd slept in it when Reese turned to her and tapped his clipboard.

"I spoke to Lieutenant Commander Delmonte. You're being removed from the regular shift rotation and assigned special duty until further notice. I want you to monitor Sergeant Hutchinson for any sign of complications. I know I cleaned everything out of that leg but I don't want to take any chances. Our patient load is low enough I can assign you to him full time. Does that work for you?"

"Yes, sir." Tori was stunned. She wondered if Dee had called in whatever favors Delmonte might owe her to make this happen.

"I understand you did a fair amount of rehab work when you were stationed at Bethesda, is that correct?" he continued.

"Yes, that was my primary assignment, helping the wounded coming back from overseas learn to - ." She broke off. A lot of those boys had come back missing limbs. She breathed another silent prayer of thanks that John was still in one piece. More or less.

"Excellent." Reese turned back to John. "Before the morning's over, I want you to get him up and walking."

John groaned.

"What's a guy have to do to lay in bed all day?" he grumbled. "Apparently getting half blown apart isn't enough."

 **XXX**

"Get up. Doctor's orders - you're going for a walk."

There was maybe one square inch of skin on the left side of his body that wasn't scratched, scraped, bruised, bandaged or stitched and she poked it with her index finger. She leaned a pair of crutches against the foot of the bed and straightened to face him, a shapeless garment dangling from her fingers. She'd left briefly to shower and change after Dee brought two breakfast trays and now she looked both gorgeous and frighteningly efficient. She meant business and he was going to be on the receiving end of whatever she had in mind. It almost took his thoughts off the pounding pain in his leg. He'd refused higher doses of morphine, preferring a clear mind and gritting his teeth to floating in a drug-induced netherworld.

"How about I just lay here until it's time to let you feed me lunch?"

"You can feed yourself. And you're not getting any lunch until you walk."

"You're a sadist."

She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"I most certainly am not," she said mildly. "Get up, Marine."

"Mmmm. What do you have in mind that you want me to get up for?"

"A walk!" Her tone was no-nonsense. "You can't just lay in bed following surgery – it's bad for circulation."

"I am not walking anywhere like this."

"Like what?" Her brow furrowed.

"Like this!" He jabbed a finger at the hospital gown. "With my ass hanging out the back of this party dress."

"That's why I brought you a robe," she said patiently, swinging the garment in question on her index finger. "If you would get out of bed, I'd help you cover your ass."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Not exactly but it will have to do for now." Her tone was unassailably proper but he saw an element in those dark blue eyes that had nothing to do with medical care. For just minute, they were back on the beach, his mouth on hers, her body soft and warm against him. He'd do anything she asked him to but she really didn't need to know that right now.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and nearly passed out. Tori grasped his shoulders and with surprising strength, pulled him upright before he could topple over.

"Slow down," she said. "This isn't a timed event."

He gripped the edge of the bed, willed his head to stop spinning.

"Trust me, sweetheart," he said, gasping for breath. "You won't have to tell me that again."

He started to stand, swaying, and she gripped his arm, bearing his weight with unexpected ease.

"Don't move." Like he was going to run off, he thought. She steadied him, then stepped behind him so he could slide his arms into the sleeves of the bathrobe. When she moved back to his side, he thought her eyes were sparkling a little more than was warranted.

"Everything check out all right back there?" he asked pointedly.

"Your backside is just fine," she replied. "And now it's covered. Let's go."

Twenty minutes later, he was weak from exertion and felt like he'd been hit by a truck but he'd managed the length of the ward, along with a visit to the head, mastering the accursed crutches and ignoring the updraft created by hospital apparel. When he complained about his missing skivvies, she told him they had been cut off him along with the rest of his clothing the day before. She also told him with firm authority that underwear was the least of his concerns right now. He thought if the tables were turned and she was the one having to walk around without any under things she might have been more willing to see it his way but he didn't argue. He didn't have the strength.

Tori brought him lunch – food at the hospital was marginally better than that in the 214's mess tent – and ate with him. When they were done, she cleared away his tray and returned with a glass of water and two pills. She dropped them into his palm.

"What's this?"

"Dolantin. It's a pain killer." Her eyes burned with blue flame. "Damn it, John, quit being such a damned _man_ and let me take care of you. I can tell you're hurting."

He'd hoped it wasn't so obvious but her keen gaze seemed to read him like a book. He eyed the tablets suspiciously. When a guy was laying around, barely able to move, without any skivvies, it seemed like a good idea to keep a clear head.

"They won't knock you out like morphine but they're strong enough to help. Honestly, we're not talking about jammed fingers this time. Your body won't heal if you're in constant pain. I can't stand to see you hurting." He heard the frustration in her voice and reluctantly swallowed the medication.

"Thank you," she said. "Come on, let me take vitals and change the dressing on your leg, then I'll let you rest."

She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm, her fingers gentle. She pumped it snug, slid the bell of the stethoscope into the crook of his arm and released the pressure valve on the cuff. He saw her frown slightly, then she pulled the cuff off and tossed it on the bedside table, along with the stethoscope.

"150 over 100. That's too high and that's why we need to get your pain level down. High pain equals high blood pressure. I'll give the dolantin a little time to kick in and then re-check it."

He wanted to tell her every time she touched him, his blood pressure went up but she looked so serious, scribbling something on his chart, he let it go.

"You said you were going to let me rest. You just can't keep your hands off me, can you?" He couldn't resist baiting her.

She fixed him with a stern look although the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

"After I change that dressing," she said firmly. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Promises." He winked and she narrowed her eyes. Teasing her took his mind off the bone-deep ache gnawing at his leg.

She stepped to a sink to wash her hands, returning with a tray of bandages and disinfectant. She set the tray down on the chair seat and without warning, flipped the bed sheet back, baring his leg and fluttering the edge of the short hospital gown. Hutch reached down and flipped the sheet back down. He glared at her. She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"What? Do you think this is the first time I've seen a man's bare leg?"

"I think you're going to see a lot more than my leg at the rate you're going!"

The smile that had been teasing the corners of her mouth broke into full bloom. She took the hand guarding the edge of the sheet, pried his fingers loose and placed it on his chest.

"I'm going to change the dressing and it's entirely possible I may see more of you than just your leg. If you can't deal with it, tell me now and I'll have Reese or one of the medics do it." She didn't let go of his hand. She was close enough he could smell the scent of her shampoo. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

It was one thing to have her touching him when they were alone in the dark. It was another thing entirely in the harsh light of day in a hospital ward. The room was far from capacity but it wasn't empty either. In spite of the privacy screen set up around his bed, he was completely unsure whether he could deal with it or not.

"Do you trust me?" Her voice was soft. He could tell she was trying to keep it professional and wasn't sure if that made him feel better or not. "I'm a nurse," she continued, "and this is a medical procedure, nothing else."

Medical procedure, his sweet aunt. She wasn't the one laying there wearing nothing but a flimsy one-size-fits-none hospital gown two days after he'd been undressing her by firelight.

"Yeah, I trust you, sweetheart," he said finally. "Just try not to cause any more trouble down there than you have to."

"You are impossible." She squeezed his hand and moved the sheet again, nudging the hem of the hospital gown out of the way, careful to expose only his hip and upper thigh. Then she ran her palm along the outside of his leg, her fingers sliding into the hollow under his knee. "Up."

Hutch gritted his teeth.

"Be careful what you ask for."

"Damn it, John!" He thought this was starting to become a litany with her. "Behave yourself!" she hissed. "Raise your leg for me. I can't take the bandage off while you're laying on it."

He complied, relieved when the motion didn't make his leg hurt any more than it already did, and she unwound the bandage with warm, quick fingers. He relaxed against the pillows, watching her work. Her face was a mask of concentration as she eased the gauze away from the wound and he saw her mouth tighten as she inspected his leg from hip to knee. From his angle, he couldn't see anything and decided it might be better that way. She pressed her fingers against his thigh as she studied the injury and he swore he could feel the whorls on every fingertip. It must be the drugs, he thought.

"Well, doc, what's the verdict?"

She answered without taking her eyes off his leg.

"You're too impertinent to die."

"Impertinent? That's a five dollar word. A minute ago I was impossible."

"You still are."

He could hear emotion bubbling under her words, genuine concern threatening to undermine her cool tone. She tipped peroxide onto a gauze pad and swiped it gently over his skin. He twitched at the cold liquid.

"Just cleaning off some of the dried blood. You really are a mess. The incisions look good though." She was again briskly professional.

"Incisions? It hurts so damned bad I can't tell where one ends and the next one starts."

"You've got external sutures in four different places here. It looks like the biggest wound has . . " she paused, " . . . 17 stitches. The others have less. I know Reese put in some sub-cutaneous ones, too. There was a lot of underlying muscle damage."

"No wonder I feel like I've been run through a meat grinder."

"Reese did a great job of putting you back together. Now it's just a matter of letting it heal."

She made it sound so simple. He half thought his body would do it just because she said so. Honestly, there was no arguing with her.

Tori spread clean gauze over his leg and taking a roll of bandaging off the tray, began securing it. The backs of her fingers brushed his inner thigh as she wrapped the cloth around his leg and he tensed. She stopped, her hand pressed warm on his skin with a level of familiarity he hadn't anticipated but which, even under his current circumstances, wasn't unpleasant.

"Is there a problem?" She grinned as she continued rolling the bandage around his leg. He felt his loins tighten at her touch and forced himself to think about anything else.

"You know this isn't what I have in mind when I think about your hands on me."

Her look was molten blue and he would have given anything to be completely alone with her right then, injuries notwithstanding. He would have found a way to make it work.

"And how much time do you spend thinking about my hands?"

"Do you really want to know?" He was rewarded when she flushed prettily.

Tori tied off the bandage, straightened his leg and smoothed the blanket back down.

"There. Done. I didn't offend your sensibilities too much, did I?"

"It would have been clear if you had."

She pointedly ignored him and glanced at her watch.

"Let's check that blood pressure again."

She affixed the cuff, then scowled at the reading.

"It hasn't gone down any."

Hutch gripped her wrist.

"Honestly to God, Tori, you've had your hand between my legs for the last 10 minutes and you expected my blood pressure to go down? You're damn lucky that's the only thing that's up." His voice was a rough whisper. She colored again and tried to pull her wrist free. He didn't let go, enjoying the look on her face and her quick intake of breath at his implication.

"You are the most impossible man," she said finally.

"And I'm impertinent. I think you like it."

"Smart ass," she muttered. "You can't be hurt too badly."

 **XXX**

"Hutchinson! How ya doin'?" Jim Gutterman's voice boomed from the doorway.

Tori and John looked up to see Jim striding down the aisle, followed by Greg and half a dozen other Black Sheep. John squeezed her wrist and let go. She fought to compose her face before the boys arrived. She wasn't taking any chances continuing this conversation with them around. They were all in their flight suits with waves of testosterone practically billowing off them. She recognized the symptoms. They'd either just blown the hell out of something or were getting ready to.

She stepped out of the way as they clustered around, asking John how he felt and making off-color jokes about being in bed in the middle of the day.

"We paid Tojo a visit this morning," Greg said. "They won't be launching anything from that base again."

"How long you figure they're gonna keep you here?" Jim asked.

"Dunno. I kinda like it here." John answered. "Tori's either chasing me around or telling me to get back in bed."

Tori rolled her eyes. Jim snorted.

"Hell, I wouldn't argue with a woman who chases me around and tells me to get into bed." He looked her up and down, leering politely. "And if you've got round the clock nursing care like that, I wouldn't be in a hurry to get out of here, either."

TJ pulled a bottle from inside his flight suit and popped the cork.

Tori glared at him and hissed, "You can not have that in here, TJ Wiley! I swear you boys think you're – "

"Here," he handed it to her. "The first toast is to you, for saving Hutch."

Shocked, she grasped the bottle by the neck as he pressed it into her hand.

"I didn't do it by myself!" she protested.

"Then take a drink for Dee, too," Casey said. "If it weren't for both of you, Micklin said Hutch never would have made it."

Tori looked around at the boys' faces. Their façade of high-spirited teasing was tempered with unspoken concern and she realized, again, how much they all cared for one another. Family was more than bloodlines.

"Hutch, none of us knows what she sees in you but you'd better hang onto her," Greg said, giving Tori a companionable one-armed hug.

She met John's eyes. He reached up and took her free hand.

"I don't know what she sees in me either but I'm not letting go." He twined his fingers into hers and squeezed them tight.

Tori lifted the bottle and drank.

 **XXX**

She slept on the adjoining bed again that night. He could smell soap and mint tooth powder when she kissed him gently before she turned off the bedside lamp. He told her to go back to her room where it was quiet and she'd be more comfortable, that he didn't need to be fussed over, but she wouldn't have it.

"I'm not leaving you alone. Deal with it," she said. "Wake me if you need anything." When he started to protest, she'd raised a finger in warning.

"Damn it, John!" they said at the same time.

She closed her eyes. He could see her mentally counting to 10.

"I mean it." She opened her eyes. "If you need help going to the head, if you need more pain medication, anything. That's why I'm here."

"Really? Anything?" He was rewarded when she didn't even try to hold back the smile.

"Not that!"

He lay on his back, head turned, watching her sleep. She'd stayed with him the whole day, insisting he get up and walk two more times, feeding him an assortment of pain medication and antibiotics, obsessing about his blood pressure until she was satisfied it was back to normal and checking his leg for any signs of warmth or swelling that could indicate early stages of infection. Her dedication to his well-being was the same single minded ferocity he'd seen when Greg was intent on circumventing Colonel Lard or when Micklin decided "By gaw, them damn college boys is gonna learn to take better care of my aircraft!" There simply was no arguing with her.

"Check my blood pressure _before_ you put your hands on me, Tor," he'd warned her. Her return smile had been both shy and promising. They hadn't talked about their night on the beach. Here, in the middle of the hospital ward, their privacy was limited but the concern radiating from her as she tended him exceeded the degree of compassionate professionalism he'd seen in her before. Or maybe it was just the drugs.

He'd liked her from the first day he met her. Liking had grown to honest affection and an undeniable physical attraction that burned even now in spite of the wrecked state of his body. He'd never felt this way about a girl before and wasn't entirely sure what to do about it. Not that it mattered. He wasn't in any shape to do anything.

Now, she was sprawled on her back, one arm across her stomach, the other flung carelessly to the side. The stubborn set of her mouth, which he'd seen quite a bit of through the day, was relaxed in sleep, and the worried furrow of her brows smoothed. He followed the line of her exposed arm from the turned-up cuff of her sleeve down to her slender wrist and long, graceful fingers. Every line of her body was sleek and elegant. His mind slid into a pleasant twilight where she was stretched out in a similar pose and wasn't wearing the jumpsuit.

Someone cleared their throat.

He jolted. He hadn't been asleep, not exactly, but he hadn't been awake either. Dee Ryan was standing at the edge of the privacy screen.

"Come in," he muttered.

"Can't sleep?" she asked quietly, sitting down next to the bed.

"Not worth it. Every time I do, Tori wakes me up to poke at me."

"I can tell you hate it."

He snorted.

"I didn't say that."

"How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?"

"Lord, not you, too. I'm fine."

"Hutch, you're not fine. I don't know what Tori told you but you nearly bled out before Reese got you sewn back up."

"She mentioned it."

"Did she mention she was the only blood donor we had when you came in?"

"No." He looked puzzled. "I thought you kept a blood supply on hand. You girls are always talking the guys into donating."

"We used it all on a couple of emergency cases the day before and hadn't resupplied. If Tori hadn't donated, I don't think you'd be here."

She hadn't told him that.

"She saved your life as much as Reese."

He didn't know what to say. How had this creature come into his life? He'd done nothing to deserve her, yet here she was, beauty and grace and demons and a fierce refusal to let the fates have their way with him. The daughter of privilege and wealth who'd given her own life's blood to ensure he lived.

Dee stood.

"Get some sleep. She'll have you running laps in the morning." Her shoes faded softly away.

Yeah, he thought. She would. And every bit of it, every demanding, pushy, annoying, painful bit of it would be for his own good. Just like she'd given blood for him. Just like she'd driven him like a drill sergeant and pestered him until he agreed to the pain medication. She did it because she cared.

She wouldn't sleep with him . . . yet . . . but she'd save his life. She'd probably have done the same for any of the boys, he thought. Given blood, not refused to sleep with them, he hastily amended his thoughts. She never would have let any of them touch her the way she'd let him. She'd nearly been raped. In his way of thinking, she _had_ been raped. Her assailant's intent had been clear, even if the act hadn't been completed. The mental violation had happened and that had to leave some nasty scars. No girl who'd been used that way would be in a hurry to let a man to touch her again.

Hutch looked again at the adjoining bed. Tori had rolled onto her stomach, fingers clenched on the pillow like she was trying to keep it from escaping. He could wait. It didn't look like either of them was going anywhere. He just hoped the war didn't kill either of them before she trusted him enough they could share both body and soul.

For the first time in his life, a one-night stand held absolutely no appeal. When Victoria Bishop said yes to him, there was going to be more than one night.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Matters of the heart**

 **One week later**

 **Vella La Cava, U.S. Navy Hospital**

"God, Bishop, you're a pain in the ass. I had drill sergeants in basic who were easier on me than you are." John's teeth were clenched and his tone rang with sarcasm but Tori ignored him and didn't even bother fighting the grin. His recovery was going well and she was delighted.

"Get over it, Hutchinson." She slapped him on the anatomy in question. "A few more steps and you can sit down." She'd insisted he walk the length of the ward without crutches, her hand steady on his arm in case his leg buckled.

John rubbed his backside and scowled. Her smile only broadened. The feel of his butt through the thin fabric of his skivvies was worth his annoyance. He'd been re-issued shorts three days into his hospital stay and traded them for the hospital gown without hesitation. Tori had offered, with straight-faced professional demeanor, to help him put them on. He'd told her point blank the only thing he wanted her doing with his shorts was taking them off. She'd blushed scarlet, folded her arms across her chest and let him struggle.

"Ouch," he said now, glaring, "you're supposed to be helping me get better, not causing more damage."

"Everything felt fine to me," she said airily, as he sank onto the bed. "You're going to heal without much of a limp but not if I let you lay in bed all day."

She hoped if she sounded fierce enough he wouldn't see her lip tremble when she thought – again – how close she'd come to losing him. The vision of his bleeding body replayed itself in her mind until she could have screamed. She fixed him with her best authoritative look.

"Get some rest, we'll do it again later."

"Promise?"

His scowl was gone, replaced by a glint of innuendo in his dark eyes that made her catch her breath.

She embraced the heat of his gaze.

"Promise."

 **XXX**

 **A few days later**

"Get out of here before you miss the transport. Go have fun."

"Are you sure?"

"Tori, I'm fine. Reese says he's cutting me loose today."

"You are not fine. Men who say they're fine are never fine. You're still held together with stitches." She tried to keep the emotion out of her voice but it didn't work. "And don't even think you can go back to the line and start working around the clock. You need time off."

"You're a fine one to talk. If I ever saw anyone who needed R and R, it's you."

Tori checked the medicine dosages on his chart for the third time and pretended she hadn't heard. He was closer to the truth than she wanted to admit. After they'd come to terms with the awkward intimacy of medical care, she'd been proud to devote herself to round-the-clock nursing. She ate, slept and monitored his recovery with unarguable authority.

A week later, he was on the road to recovery and she was exhausted. Her emotions were in a constant whirl, both from their night on the beach and the realization she was in love with him. The dual turmoil was made worse by not knowing if he felt the same way. It wasn't like they could sit down and talk about it, either. Privacy in the hospital was as rare as it was on the 214's base.

"Kate promised to keep an eye on you when you go back," Tori warned.

"She can't be any worse than you." John fixed her with a lopsided grin. He lay back against the pillows. " I promise to behave. I've seen Kate when she's mad – I'm not taking any chances. Go have a good time with the girls, you deserve it."

She leaned down and kissed him, feather light and quick, but it didn't go un-noticed by the patients in adjoining beds who whooped and whistled.

Outside a jeep horn blasted.

"Come on, Tori! Let's go!" Dee's voice echoed off the building.

John winked at her.

"Don't do anything on Espritos that I wouldn't."

"I have no idea what you wouldn't do," she said.

"Come back and we'll talk about it."

She kissed him again, a little harder this time, picked up her bag and bolted.

 **XXX**

Hutch watched her shapely backside as she nearly ran out of the infirmary. She was wearing the khaki skirt and blouse she'd had on the first day he met her, legs sleek in silk stockings, hair caught neatly back with a comb. Polished, professional. The flip side of the jumpsuit-clad, tousle-haired girl who'd devoted herself to him night and day for the last week, lecturing and demanding and caring with unarguable authority. An unexpected ache squeezed his heart as the click of her heels faded on the wooden floor. He knew she needed to get out of here, needed time for herself, but he didn't want her to leave. Ever. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

 **XXX**

True to his word, Doc Reese released him from the hospital later that day. While he didn't exactly have a clean bill of health, he was off the crutches and could walk under his own power without the threat of falling over.

Micklin came to pick him up. He fiddled with his cap while Hutch pulled on fatigues and bent to lace his boots. It was a tortuous process but he was pretty sure if Tori had been there, she would have made him do it himself anyway.

"Where's that pretty little redhead who's so determined to put you back in one piece?" Micklin asked.

Hutch pulled the T-shirt over his head, wincing as fabric snagged the stitches in his arm. Lord, he was a mess. Tori hadn't been kidding when she said he was sewn together. It would have been easier to skip the shirt but she'd told him to stay clean and a shirt would help, even if he wasn't back on active duty yet. He didn't intend to lift anything heavier than a beer any time soon but dirt always seemed to find him anyway. _Pretty little redhead?_ He chuckled. Tori would roll her eyes at Micklin's assessment.

"She went to Espritos for R and R. Why?"

"Never got to thank her proper for saving your skinny butt."

Micklin had visited him at the hospital nearly every day but Tori always faded into the background when he was there, leaving the men to their talk.

"You can tell her yourself when she gets back. I reckon she'll be out on the line checking up on me."

He stood, grimacing as his body re-accustomed itself to clothes after so long in just skivvies.

"She's a nice little gal. Don't take no sass from no one. You and her . . .?" Micklin let the unspoken question hang.

"Yeah, we're . . ." Hutch paused. He wasn't entirely sure what they were. "We're together," he concluded.

Micklin chuckled.

"Good for you, boy."

 **XXX**

Tori enjoyed her leave more than she expected. There were six of them – herself, Dee, Laura, Ellen, Bette and Doreen. She reveled in the luxury of sleeping late, enjoyed meals that included fresh seafood and produce, lounged on the beach with the girls, got her hair trimmed at the base salon and restocked on toiletries in the PX.

And missed John.

She caught herself wondering how he was doing, if he had listened to any of Reese's discharge instructions or if he tried diving back into his insane work load. She wondered if he would listen to Kate if she had to act as enforcer. She felt confident in that respect. John knew Kate well enough he'd tow the line, at least when she was around.

"Earth to Tori," Dee said, waving a hand in front of her face as they basked in the sunshine on the beach the second day.

"Hmmm?" Tori blinked.

"You haven't turned a page in 10 minutes."

Tori tossed the copy of William Faulkner's "The Hamlet" onto the blanket and stretched luxuriously, curling her toes in the sand. She propped her sunglasses on top of her head and said, "My mind wanders."

"Uh-huh," Dee said. "Bet I know where it went."

"Do you blame me?" After spending nearly every waking moment together for the last week and a half, being away from John left an unexpected emptiness in her heart.

Dee smiled.

"Not at all. I wish Casey was here, too, but that never works out. The truth is, unless you're willing to do a lot of sneaking around and bribing the other guys to get a room to yourself, it's almost impossible to find any privacy here. You'd be better off staying on La Cava. The beach there is nicer anyway." She shrugged. "So I take R and R with the girls and Casey takes it with the guys."

"You trust him on R and R with that bunch?" Tori was curious. She'd heard the stories about the Black Sheep's antics on Espritos, yet Dee and Casey's relationship didn't seem any worse the wear for it.

"We trusted each other as friends before we were anything else." Dee smiled broadly. "Besides, he's not going to find anything better than me and he knows it." She nudged Tori's shoulder. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It'll be worth the wait when you and Hutch find the right time."

Tori's skepticism must have shown on her face.

"Look," Dee said firmly. "I've known all those boys since the beginning of the Black Sheep. I can tell you which ones are only in it for themselves. Word gets out. Hutch may be a little rough around the edges but he's one of the sweetest guys on that rock."

Tori gazed out to sea.

"I'm in love with him."

Dee dropped the magazine she was reading.

"Victoria Bishop! Good for you!"

"I don't know if it is," Tori said hesitantly. "I don't know if he feels the same way. I realized it the day he got hurt. I was so afraid he was going to die and I couldn't imagine life without him." She tipped her face up to the sun. "It's crazy. He's kissed me a couple of times and we made out for about 10 minutes before I had a complete meltdown, then he nearly got killed and now I've fallen head over tea kettle for him and . . . oh!" She made a frustrated sound and flopped onto her back, arms crossed over her face.

"You two lived in each other's hip pockets for the last 10 days and you never mentioned it?" Dee chided gently.

Tori shot her a wry look from under her arm.

"You ever try having a private conversation in the middle of that hospital? We had enough trouble getting through sponge baths."

The girls watched shorebirds running back and forth ahead of the waves.

"We're from two different worlds," Tori said quietly. "I don't know how he feels about that. I mean, out here, it doesn't matter but when this is over, we'll go home . . ." She shook her head. "I'm making too big a deal of it. Maybe I'll just stay in the Navy and not go home. That might be easier. Then I won't have to deal with my parents."

"Look," Dee said, "if the two of you love each other, it's not going to matter where you live or who your parents are. It's only a problem if you let it be."

Tori snorted.

"It'll be a problem if Edward and Portia decide the guy their little girl is stepping out with has a pedigree that doesn't meet their standards. Mother nearly had a fit and fell in it when I ended things with Preston. She thought he would be the perfect son-in-law."

Dee regarded her.

"When did you start letting your parents tell you how to live your life?" She softened. "Don't go borrowing trouble yet. This war's a long way from over."

 **XXX**

 **1800 hours**

 **Espritos Marcos Officers Club**

Tori and Dee ordered drinks in the bar while waiting for the other girls to join them for dinner. Tori was sipping the Aussie wine that was rapidly becoming her favorite when a hand rested on her shoulder.

"Lieutenant Bishop? How nice to see you again." The speaker's voice held a note of doubt the feeling would be reciprocal.

Tori looked up to see General Thomas Moore standing by her chair.

"I'll catch up with you boys," he said over his shoulder as a group of upper level brass continued toward the dining room.

Tori's heart lurched. The last time she'd seen Moore, she'd been holding the scraps of her dress together and trying not to vomit while he rearranged her life. She bared her teeth in a smile.

"Likewise, General."

If he noticed her cool tone, he didn't acknowledge it.

"How are you finding things on Vella La Cava?"

Even though he sounded genuinely interested, Tori felt irrational anger rising through her. The man had done her a favor in ways neither of them could have anticipated but she sincerely hoped he didn't think she'd forgotten the way he'd manipulated her. The gut-wrenching terror of that night, when she'd teetered on the brink of personal and professional disaster, surged back one-hundredfold.

"It's hot. Dirty. Dangerous. The place is full of malaria and marauding Japanese air patrols. But you knew that when you sent me there. I guess you wanted to make sure I was far enough from Washington there wouldn't be any chance I'd open my mouth at an inopportune time. Tell me, General, how is Admiral Grier these days? Does he suffer from recurring headaches?"

Next to her, Dee choked a laugh into a polite cough.

Moore's eyebrows shot off his forehead.

"The admiral is enjoying his retirement," he managed. "And how are you?"

"How am I?" Tori clenched her teeth and fixed a smile on her face. Her voice didn't raise in volume but the steel in her tone grew harder with each word. "How kind of you to ask. I got promoted for no other reason than an admiral couldn't keep his hands out from under my skirt. I left the States without being able to say good-bye to my parents in person. I got to my new posting and found out I'd _volunteered_ for long-term duty. God only knows when I'll see my family again. Last week I sat in the dirt with a boy's blood pouring through my fingers like water. He'll be fine but others weren't and I've had to prepare what was left of their bodies to be shipped home. But thank you for asking." Her eyes blazed. "I'm. Just. Fine."

Moore blinked.

"It was good to see you again, Lieutenant. Take care." He moved smoothly away before she could say anything else.

"Did you get that out of your system?" Dee asked quietly.

"Maybe. I feel better now," Tori said, then added politely, "Please pass the bottle."

Saying the words out loud loosened something within her. She didn't mind the heat or the dirt and while it had ripped her heart into pieces when John had been hurt, she found she really didn't care about going Stateside again. She liked the work she was doing here. It gave her a purpose she'd never felt in her cushioned existence back home.

Dee picked up the bottle and filled Tori's wine glass. She raised her own and clinked it with Tori's.

"Here's to you, Bishop. I knew the first day I met you that you'd fit in just fine around the Black Sheep. Now you're telling generals where to get off. What's next?"

"I'm going to enjoy a decent meal," Tori said firmly. "And a few more drinks before we go back to the mud and mosquitoes." She grinned. "And the men."

 **XXX**

The table of white uniformed Navy officers had gotten an early start on happy hour. They'd been in the officers' club lounge when the girls gathered for a before dinner drink and now, two hours later, they were still there. As luck would have it, the only empty table in the room was right next to theirs.

"What do you think, ladies?" Dee asked as the girls paused in the doorway. "There's safety in numbers and I'm not ready to go to bed early on our last night of leave."

"Let's go. We've got your six." Tori seconded Dee's enthusiasm. She was reluctant to cut the free-spirited evening short even though she was looking forward to returning to La Cava. The time away had been good for introspection and she nurtured a quiet confidence about her future with John. She realized her fragile emotions regarding their physical relationship had vanished amidst the blood and terror when he was injured.

Since then, she'd come to terms with the things he'd said to her that night on the beach. Working on the front lines of a war had a way of putting things in perspective. Nearly losing him, and the subsequent realization that she loved him, was both euphoric and unsettling. She had no idea if he was just looking for someone to pass the time with when it was convenient or if he returned her love. The idea had a fairy tale quality about it but she'd abandoned fairy tales the night Grier assaulted her. There was only the here and now and the gentle patience of a boy who'd proven more than once that he would only take what she freely offered. She resolved not to overthink it.

 _We'll have another night together. . . . .Nothing will happen that we can't handle._ Could it be that simple? When she was with him, she felt like they were on top of the world and anything was possible.

The officers whistled as the girls settled at the table, jolting Tori's thoughts back to the present.

"Don't make eye contact," Dee muttered. "If we don't encourage them, maybe they'll leave us alone."

"We should have all worn fake wedding bands," Ellen suggested.

"Like that would stop any of them," Dee said. "They're worse than the Black Sheep and since we're in Navy uniform, they'll expect us to fall right into their laps."

"How is that any different from the Black Sheep?" Bette asked.

Dee made a face.

"Those boys know better than to expect it automatically." She grinned. "And they know how to work for it."

"Speaking of working for it, how was your night on the beach with John?" Laura's grin was innocent. "I knew you two were out there after Anderson's party but I never got to ask you about it, then he got hurt and it didn't seem right to talk about it. But now that he's going to be okay . . ." She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"I slept better than I thought I would," Tori said, evasive.

"Mmmmm, we all sleep better after a little lovin'," Bette said dreamily.

Tori sputtered.

"What you're thinking happened, didn't happen."

"Are you telling me you spent the night on the beach together but you didn't . . .?" Laura was skeptical.

"We started to but . . . why is this any of your business?" Tori looked around the table, daring her friends to push for more details.

They did.

"Because I told you about the first time I went to the beach with Bobby," Bette said.

"And I told you about the first time I went to the beach with Bobby," Ellen said, then added hastily, "different Bobby. So you owe us."

Dee shrugged.

"Don't look at me. I didn't tell them anything."

Tori rolled her eyes. Friends could be a pain sometimes but she loved these girls and they were right. It wasn't fair for them to share details of their relationships while she kept everything to herself. Not that there was anything to tell.

"We kind of started to," she said, fiddling with the tablecloth. She made a face. "We would have, I think . . . but I hadn't told him about what happened with Admiral Grier and he needed to know it because it's not right when a guy doesn't know you've been through something like that. So I told him and . . ." She smiled, remembering the look on his face after she'd thrown all her demons in his lap. "And he was a gentleman . . . and we didn't . . . because I wasn't ready yet." She blew out her breath.

Bette sighed.

"That is so romantic when a guy actually listens to you and doesn't act like a rutting bull." She flashed Tori a smile. "I bet when the two of you get horizontal the fireworks are really going to go off!"

Tori blushed.

"Can we talk about something else?" she said. She thought talking about _not_ sleeping with John was harder than if she actually _had_ slept with him.

A waiter approached and set down a tray of drinks.

"Courtesy of the gentlemen at the next table," he said, setting the whisky tumblers around.

The girls froze. No one made a move to pick up the fresh drinks. Tori felt eyes boring into her back and it didn't take long before one of the men rose and stepped toward them, stretching his hands braced on her and Dee's chairs.

"Good evening. Where are you lovelies stationed?" He wasn't slurring his words but Tori thought he was only upright because he had a firm grip on their chairs.

"Vella La Cava," she answered coolly. She knew ignoring him would only make it worse.

The man, a captain from the insignia on his collar, looked at his friends.

"You hear that, boys? These girls are stationed on La Cava with those Marines. Bet they'd enjoy the company of some real men tonight."

"Oh?" Tori looked around innocently. "Are the boys from 214 here?"

The man scowled.

"Come on girls, drink up." He indicated the whisky. "We'll share if you will." His buddies guffawed appreciatively.

Tori deliberately pushed her chair back and stood.

"Tor," Dee's voice held a note of caution. "What are you doing?"

Tori glanced at her friend.

"They won't start anything, we're women, right? I'm just tired of men being jerks."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Dee said.

Taking her drink, Tori deliberately poured it into a nearby potted palm. She set the empty glass on the table and glared at the man.

"Dear Lord, she's been spending too much time around Greg's boys," Laura muttered. "This isn't going to end well."

The captain had an air of injured pride on his face.

"Aw, sweetie, what'd you do that for? I thought we'd get to know each other better, have a little fun."

"I'm not here for your entertainment."

"I bought you a drink, doesn't that count for anything?"

"I hope you don't think that means I'm bought and paid for," she said.

The man's mouth twisted sullenly.

"Think you're too good for me, do you? I should teach you to respect a senior officer."

"You couldn't teach me how to smoke if you were on fire," Tori snapped. Behind her, she heard Laura's quick intake of breath and Dee's low chuckle.

"You got a smart mouth. You know how to do anything else with that tongue?"

Tori slapped him hard, her fist cracking across his cheek like a rifle shot.

"That's not how you speak to a lady, _Captain_ ," she snarled.

"I don't think you're a lady." With unexpected speed, he grabbed both her wrists and yanked her toward him. Tori yelped in pain and without stopping to think, drove her knee hard into his groin. He let go of her and dropped like a rock.

"Hey! You can't do that!" one of his buddies called.

Tori spun to face him as the man rose unsteadily from his chair.

"What are you going to do about it?"

In hindsight, that was the wrong thing to say. Tori barely had time to step aside as one of the other men lurched toward her. Dee shot out a foot and he tripped, falling heavily into a table of pilots from VMF 149, the Fighting Gryphons from Rendova.

"What the hell!" one of them shouted as a pitcher of beer crashed over, splattering him and his companions. The men sprang to their feet, trouble looking for a place to happen.

All hell broke loose.

"Let's get out of here," Dee yelled as the Marines dove into the fray. The girls began edging their way out of the bar but their retreat was blocked by several more Navy boys coming to the aid of their fallen comrades.

One grabbed Laura, who threw her elbow hard into his ribs. He yowled and let go. A body in khaki uniform flew past Tori's peripheral vision, only to return with reinforcements. Glass shattered. She picked her way around an upended chair and had a clear shot at the door when an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back.

"Pretty little thing like you could get hurt in a place like this." Beery breath gusted in her face. Tori twisted to see one of the white-clad officers pulling her tightly against him.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." She ordered. She didn't expect him to listen and wasn't surprised when he didn't.

"What kind of attitude is that? You and me could get to know each other better."

"You don't really want to mess with me tonight." Tori raised her foot and stomped hard on the man's instep. It would have been more effective if she hadn't been wearing heels but it made her point nonetheless. The man grunted in pain and loosened his grip enough for her to wrench free. She'd only taken a step when a twisted knot of white and khaki crashed into her, shoving her hard into the bar. As she struggled to stay upright, a flailing backhand caught her a glancing blow on one cheek and she stumbled, pain blossoming in her head.

"Tor! Behind you!" Laura's voice came over the din.

Already off balance, Tori dropped without looking and felt air whistle over her head as two combatants lurched past, fists swinging. Dizzily, she straightened and looked around. Laura, Ellen and Doreen were waiting in the doorway. Bette was picking her way cautiously over a broken chair. Tori saw Dee rising slowly from the floor. She lurched across the room and grabbed her friend's hand. Dee's lip was bleeding and her garrison cap was hanging sideways but her eyes were sparkling. Tori pulled her upright, Dee jammed her hat back on and they joined the rest of the girls on the veranda. Ellen handed Dee a handkerchief for her bleeding lip. Tori tucked her blouse back into her skirt and straightened her tie. Her cheek throbbed. Laura was standing with one shoe in her hand. She'd broken a heel using it to batter her way out of the lounge.

Dee looked at Tori's cheek.

"You'd better ice that or you'll have a shiner tomorrow," Dee said. "Let's go."

Tori could hear the sound of sirens drawing closer. Someone had called the MPs. As casually as they could, the girls linked arms and strolled away as the mayhem raged behind them.

 **XXX**

When they exited the C-47 at La Cava the next morning, Tori wasn't surprised to see Casey and both Bobbies waiting for their girls. Her heart surged when John climbed out of a jeep parked nearby and walked slowly across the dirt of the airfield. He was limping but it wasn't pronounced. And he wasn't wearing a shirt. As he approached, she could see the sutures had been removed from his arms and torso. Had it really been 10 days since that awful afternoon?

He gripped her arms and kissed her lightly on the forehead. She grabbed his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. Well, hell, it wasn't like their relationship was a secret, was it?

"Hey. Welcome home," he said when their lips parted.

"Hey yourself. I see your stitches are out."

"Fran took them out yesterday. I wouldn't let her do the ones in my leg. I told her I was saving those for you."

"Thanks." Tori remembered the first time she'd changed the bandage in the hospital. Removing sutures wasn't nearly as intimate but he'd waited for her to come back to do it. Her heart gave a funny little flip.

"Did you girls have a good - " John broke off as he cupped her chin, turning her face away to study her cheekbone. "What's this?"

She'd iced it the previous night and it hadn't swelled but she'd woken with it bruised and angry looking this morning nonetheless.

"It looks like you either had a really good time or a really bad one." Concern mingled with humor.

"It's kind of a long story."

"I see you didn't listen when I told you not to do anything I wouldn't do."

"You should have been more specific. And for the record, the other guy started it."

"Spoken like a Black Sheep," John said. "The other guy always starts it, unless the other guy is one of us."

"Your girl _did_ kind of start it," Dee said, handing her bag to Casey. "Some jerk was hitting on Tori in the officers club. He wouldn't take no for an answer and when push came to shove, she made her point. Wonder if that guy's pulled his nuts out of his body cavity yet."

John's eyebrows shot up.

"Things kind of went down hill after that," Tori said. She touched her cheek. "Collateral damage."

Laura, who was still wobbling around on her ruined pump, took a step and pitched forward. John and Bobby Anderson each caught an arm to keep her from face-planting. She yanked off her shoe in disgust and dangled it by the broken heel.

"I can fix that for you," John said, taking the shoe.

"Could you? Really?"

"Sure." He examined it. "Three-sixteenths screw right into the heel, it'll be good as new. Tell you what, I'll bring it with me tonight when I come over to see Tori."

"You're coming to see me?" She couldn't keep the pleased surprise out of her voice.

He just grinned and something inside her melted. She thought that pirate's grin was worse than Greg's dimples and Jim's good old boy appeal and Casey's boy-next-door innocence combined.

"Of course I am. Someone's got to take these damn stitches out," he said. "They itch like crazy and I'm not about to let Micklin do it."

 **XXX**

"Hey."

She was sitting at her desk, absorbed in sketching on a pad of paper when he stepped into her open doorway. He grinned and brandished Laura's repaired shoe.

"Hi! Come in, quick, before Delmonte sees you!" Tori rose to take his arm and pull him into the room. He looked around with interest. Her quarters were neat as a pin, although if she'd let things get messy, there wouldn't be room to turn around.

"I think my tent is bigger than this."

"I think it is, too. Haven't you ever been in the nurses' quarters before?"

He shook his head.

"Not me. TJ's the king of sneaking in here. Gutterman was, too, until Sarah got hold of him. Casey does it all the time to see Dee, but I guess you know that." He held up Laura's shoe. Tori took it and stuck her head out her door.

"Halvorson! The cobbler fixed your shoe!"

Laura appeared, wrapped in a towel, and squeaked when she saw John. He hastily turned away, focusing on Tori's desk where she'd left her sketchpad laying open. A partially completed drawing showed Meatball trotting out of a tent with a lacy undergarment in his teeth. The sketch clearly didn't take itself seriously but was rendered with a degree of skill that brought the dog to life. He chuckled. Tori had mentioned she enjoyed drawing but he had no idea she was this good.

"You didn't tell me the cobbler delivered it personally!" Laura took the shoe and backed self-consciously out of the room. "I'll leave you two alone. I'm sure Tori has lots to tell you about taking on the Navy." She disappeared. "Thanks, Hutch!" Her disembodied voice floated from the hallway.

"Any time," he said. His fingers itched to turn the pages of the sketchbook but it seemed like a violation of privacy to look without her permission. He got the feeling whatever those pages contained was a part of Victoria Bishop few others saw.

Tori swung the door shut.

"Can I?" He indicated the sketchbook. When she didn't answer immediately, he stepped away from the desk. "I won't, if you don't want me to."

"It's okay. Go ahead," she said. Her tone was almost shy, he thought.

She stood next to him as he slowly lifted the pages, stunned by the skill reflected in simple charcoal pencil drawings. They were exquisitely done, capturing the men, the girls, the planes, the base, and reflecting the essence of their lives here – triumph, fear, strain, joy, humor.

"How do you do this?" he asked, amazed. "Are you drawing from memory? I mean, you just see something and then . . .?" He pointed at a portrait of him, up to the elbows in an engine, face fierce with concentration. Her pencil strokes captured him with almost photographic clarity.

"Yeah," she said. "When I was in high school, I thought maybe I'd be an artist when I grew up. But my parents didn't encourage it. I think they were afraid I was going to run away and join a commune or something."

"So you ran away and joined the Navy instead."

She punched his arm lightly.

"Yeah. Something like that."

He flipped to the next page and almost stopped breathing. Hands, one male, one female, loosely entwined against a background of bedclothes and pillows. She'd done it in such a way the viewer was part of the scene, could almost feel the physical contact. The drawing resonated with such sensuality he felt a not uncomfortable jolt of pleasure echo through him. Then he saw the scar on the man's hand. It matched the one that ran full length of his own index finger, the result of a high school shop accident. The contrasting fingers were slender, feminine, with short buffed nails.

"Tor? Is that us?" He didn't know what to say and it didn't matter. The look on her face said it all, color blossoming on her face, her eyes holding his defiantly.

"Yes," she said, and firmly turned the page. The temperature in the room, which had been climbing, dropped back to normal levels.

Hutch whooped. The next sketch showed a sun-bathing beauty clutching the top half of her fluttering bikini as a pair of Corsairs swooped low over a tropical beach. The drawing was every bit as risqué as some of the better nose art he'd seen but it was done in such a tasteful way not even the girl who had inspired it would have been offended.

"That's great." He collected himself mentally. "You have an incredible gift."

"It's just something I do to fill time," she said.

He set the sketchpad back on her desk.

"Are you going to tell me what you did to the Navy?"

"I thought you came over here to have me take out those stitches."

"I did."

"I'll tell you after I look at your leg. Take your pants off and lay down on the bed," she said absently, pulling a small pair of sewing scissors from a kit on her desk.

He chuckled.

"You're playing right into my dreams, sweetheart."

"Oh stop it!" She tried to look annoyed but it came off more as amusement. "Behave yourself or I'll turn you over to Delmonte."

"You wouldn't dream of it."

He untied his boots and kicked them off, then unfastened his trousers and stepped out of them.

"Lay down and be still. This may tug a little but it shouldn't hurt."

She was doing her best to be professional and he wondered if she felt as edgy as he did. Just being alone with her was like being around a lit fuse. He stretched out on his side on her bed and propped himself up on an elbow to watch her. She pulled her chair next to the bed, adjusted the desk lamp and set to work. His leg was going to be a mess of half-healed muscle and scar tissue for a long time but the feel of her fingers, warm and light against his thigh, took his mind off the bone-deep ache he felt at the end of each day.

She removed the sutures with quick, tidy movements, her hair falling to curtain her face. She pushed it impatiently behind one ear. The lamp light caught the fiery highlights and emphasized the contrast between the smooth perfection of her skin and the bruise on her cheekbone. She was fragile and tough at the same time, a beautiful, complicated mix of vulnerability and strength and compassion that never stopped.

And he loved her.

He'd realized it about five minutes after she left for Espritos. Laying there in that damned hospital bed, waiting for Doc Reese to sign off on his release, it had come to him with perfect clarity. Memories of the day he'd been wounded were still a jigsaw puzzle but one thing was crystal clear in his fractured recall. Tori, holding his hand like she'd never let go. The strength of her fingers squeezing his, smeared with his blood, her pulse beating strong and steady against his, demanding that he live.

He was in love with Victoria Bishop.

When he watched her walk out of the hospital, leaving his side for the first time in eight days, he felt like the sun had gone out of his life. She was just going to Espritos with the girls but her absence left him somehow incomplete. He'd never felt that way about a girl before. There'd been girls he'd wanted to spend more time with but that had to do with feelings that were considerably more external than internal.

He loved her because of the way she laughed. The way she smiled when she looked at him. The way she'd sat, holding Meatball, telling him what an idiot he was the afternoon he'd eaten Bragg's cake. He loved her touch, the sound of her voice, the way she smelled. He loved the sleepy, tousled look she had first thing in the morning and the cowlick on her right temple she was always pulling at, trying to straighten it.

He'd never said the words before. He'd heard the other boys toss "I love you" around with as much forethought as ordering a drink in the Sheep Pen. He'd heard Greg and Kate say it when they didn't think anyone was in earshot, usually after the squadron set down after a rough mission. Their words rang with a sincerity that reflected the depth of their feelings. He realized suddenly that was what he felt. He loved this girl, so haunted by the demons of her decisions, with that thousand-watt smile and indigo eyes, who'd given her own blood to save his life.

"There, last one . . . and done." She ran her palm over the roughened skin with its irregular zig-zag of half-healed weals and he lay still, never wanting her to stop touching him. She turned away and he sat up and reached reluctantly for his trousers. He straightened from tying his boots to realize her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.

"Tor, hey, sweetheart?" He turned her to face him and she wiped hastily at her eyes. "What's wrong? Reese didn't sew my leg on backwards, did he?"

His attempt at levity slowed her tears. She drew a ragged breath and flattened her hands on his chest. Her eyes were storm dark.

"You almost died, John. You _did_ die. Laura said your heart stopped while you were in surgery. Reese brought you back." She bit her lip and wiped at her eyes again.

"Hey." He pulled her against him, pressing her head against his chest. Shit. His heart had stopped? No one told him that. "But I didn't. It wasn't my time to go."

Her arms closed around him even more tightly.

"That night on the beach, you told me the worst thing that was going to happen the next day was that most of the boys were going to have hangovers." She snuffled against his chest, half-laugh, half-hiccup. "Liar."

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, treasured the feel of her in his arms, relaxed, trusting, sharing the same unspeakable pain that had haunted him since he woke up in the hospital. He could have died. And he wouldn't have told her the most important thing he'd ever said to a girl.

"I love you," he said. The words fell into the silence between them.

She pulled back, blinking. He wasn't sure she'd heard him, so he said it again.

"I love you, Tori."

She still didn't say anything and he was sure she'd heard him that time. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a soft "oh" of surprise. She stood, unmoving in his arms.

"But . . . we haven't even . . . we've never . . ."

He cradled the back of her head.

"I don't care. We don't need to make love for me to know I love you."

She said nothing, not taking her eyes from his.

"Then how do you know?" She was trembling.

"I meant everything I said that night on the beach – you're brave and honest and beautiful. Tori, I've never met anyone like you. I love you." The words came easier each time he said them.

She brushed her fingers across his cheek and he felt the tension in her body.

"I love you, too." Her voice was quiet, her fingers touching his face as though she were seeing him for the first time. "I think I knew it that night on the beach but it scared me so much I couldn't say it. I was afraid if I said it out loud it would be some kind of curse and everything would go wrong. And then you got hurt and everything _did_ go wrong and I hadn't told you and I was afraid you were going to die and – "

He lowered his head and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with more enthusiasm than he'd anticipated. He pushed her back against the wall, his mouth hungry against hers. The feel of her in his arms knocked everything else out of his mind and time blurred.

Somewhere down the hall, Ellen broke into the chorus of "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition." Tori jerked out of his arms, bolted to the door and peeked out. She shut the door and fell back against it.

"It's Delmonte!"

" _Praise the Lord, we're all between perdition and the deep blue sea!"_ Ellen's throaty, chorus girl voice rang clearly.

"What does _that_ have to do with Delmonte?"

"It's a signal. If she comes poking around the nurses' quarters, whoever sees her first starts singing. That gives the girls time to get the guys out of their rooms. You have to go!"

"Wait a minute – doesn't she think it's odd that someone is always bursting into song when she shows up?"

"She thinks we all secretly want to run away and join the USO. We use a different song every week. Go!" She pushed him toward the window.

"Go where?" He back peddled, hands still on her shoulders.

"Out the window!" She dodged around him and jerked the sash up as high as it would go, then popped the screen loose and swung it out. "Lower yourself out by the window ledge, it's only a two foot drop to the ground. Be careful, land with your weight on your right leg. Don't tell me you've never done this before," she hissed.

"I've never done this before," he deadpanned.

"Are you kidding me? I thought the Black Sheep made a habit of it."

"They do – I don't!"

" _Shouting praise the Lord, we're on a mighty mission! All aboard, we ain't a-goin' fishin'!"_

"Get out! If she catches you here I'll end up under hack! And she'll bring you up on charges. Go already!" She shoved him toward the window with surprising strength.

"Tori?"

"What!"

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

"See you later, sweetheart." He swung his feet over the window ledge and twisted to grip the sill. His last view was of her face, slightly frantic and all the more beautiful for it. He winked and let go.

" _Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition and we'll all stay free!"_

He landed on his right leg, as instructed but still felt pain jolt through his left. Straightening, he vanished into the darkness toward to the jeep. He wasn't sure what he thought being in love would be like but he got a feeling it wasn't the sort of thing that followed a script.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Let me love you**

 **Frank and Maureen Hutchinson's home**

 **Flint, Michigan**

The scent of baking shepherd's pie drifted through the house, rich and mouthwatering on the brisk autumn afternoon. Maureen Hutchinson draped a dish towel over a loaf of bread and set it to cool on the counter next to the apple crisp she'd made earlier. The clock on the wall read 5:20 p.m. Frank would be home from the plant by 6. When the weather was fine like it was today, he walked the two and a half miles each way to save gasoline. Waste not, want not.

Maureen heard footsteps on the home's front porch and Goose, the family's black Labrador, barked a single, friendly woof, signaling the late-day arrival and departure of the postman.

Maureen retrieved the mail. Her heart jumped to see two letters, envelopes worn from their journey, amidst the jumble of bills and routine correspondence. She broke into a smile at the sight of her son's scrawl. She didn't recognize the handwriting on the second letter but the return address told her it was from Master Sgt. Andrew Micklin, Vella La Cava, Solomon Islands.

She carried the mail into the living room and sat down in one of the comfortably worn chairs that flanked the fireplace. Sunshine slanted through the lace curtains at the bow window. Freedom, the black and white housecat, leaped into her lap. She acknowledged the cat with a head scratch and deciding to save John's letter for last, opened Master Sergeant Micklin's envelope. The handwriting on the single sheet of paper was old fashioned but readable.

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson,_

 _As line chief for VMF 214, I wanted to let you know your son John was gravely wounded in the line of duty on 28 September 1943 during a Japanese air raid on our base._

Maureen's heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. It had happened. The thing she'd dreaded since he hugged her good-bye two years ago had happened. John had been wounded in this God-awful war.

 _He's being treated in the Navy hospital right here on the island and is going to be just fine, so don't worry none about him. I never seen a boy get so much attention from nurses, especially one of them, who he's particularly fond of and I believe she's sweet on him, too. She's taking top shelf care of him and I expect he'll be back on the line in no time. I ain't never known a mechanic who was so good with his hands as your boy and I'll be right glad to have him back._

 _I reckon he'll write and tell you all about it in his own time. In the meantime, don't worry none. His little gal is taking good care of him._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Master Sgt. Andrew Micklin, USMC_

 _VMF 214_

 _Vella La Cava, The Solomons_

Maureen took a deep breath and let it out. No. The thing she dreaded most was a telegram like Reinhardt and Emilie Stanerson had received in December of '41, with the empty, flag-draped casket sitting on the church altar for their son's memorial service.

John wasn't dead. She willed her heart to stop its panicked pounding. He'd just been hurt. He was recovering. He'd be all right.

And there was a nurse he was particularly fond of? She raised her eyebrows. God bless Master Sergeant Micklin for taking the time to share that little piece of intelligence. John wasn't noted for frequent correspondence and when he did write, his letters tended to be more about airplane engines than girls.

How had he managed to find a girl over there on the other side of the world? It was probably just a passing attraction between two people tossed together by the war, she mused. She thought he'd get serious about a girl at some point, but she expected it would happen after he came home from the service. _Then_ it would be time to find a wife, not while he was living at the enemy's back door.

She opened John's letter and noted with relief it was dated two weeks after he'd been injured. She shook her head at the vagaries of the mail system. Sergeant Micklin's missive had been mailed two weeks earlier but they arrived on the same day.

 _Greetings._

She smiled at the typical lack of any sort of affectionate salutation.

 _Thought I'd better let you know what happened out here on the back side of nowhere. Sarge said he wrote to you a few weeks back and told you I got a little torn up. I won't bother you with the details. They'd make Ma worry and the censors would black them out anyway._

 _I ended up as a resident in the Navy hospital here. A week of laying in bed was a nice break but I would have taken a pass on what it took to get there. I had good nurses, though, and if I'm not good as new, it's not for lack of trying on their part. One thing I've learned is don't argue with a Navy nurse. They don't listen._

 _I reckon I ought to tell you, one of the girls here has gotten to be a little special. She was in charge of my care but we'd already been getting to know each other before that. That should make Ma happy. Now she'll know I'm doing more out here than working around the clock._

Just how well had he gotten to know this girl, Maureen wondered. She knew John would never divulge _that_ in a letter. She was surprised he'd even taken the time to mention her existence. Maybe this was more than just a passing fancy. She suspected her son hadn't been a choir boy since joining the Marine Corps but he'd never made it a point to mention a specific girl before.

 _Her name is Tori – Lt. Victoria Bishop. She's from Grosse Pointe. I think Dad might have met her old man a few years back when he went to that manufacturing conference in Detroit, the one Ford hosted. Her parents are Edward and Portia Bishop._

Maureen's eyebrows nearly shot off her face. She let the hand holding the letter fall into her lap, squashing the cat who gave an annoyed yowl. _Bishop?_ Her son was making time with Edward and Portia Bishop's daughter? The one who'd been engaged to marry a state senator, then dumped him to join the Nursing Corps? She'd read all about it in the society pages of the _Detroit Free Press._ How in God's name had _this_ happened?

Maureen forced her eyes back to the cheerful scrawl on the page. John didn't elaborate about how well the two of them knew each other. He didn't have to. The simple fact he'd mentioned the girl at all was as eloquent as if he'd written volumes on the subject.

". . . _but we'd already been getting to know each other before that . . ."_

Maureen studied the words. Like a lot of mothers, she'd spent more than one idle daydream wondering what sort of girl John would bring home some day to meet her and Frank. She had no idea if it would be this one but the fact he'd mentioned her at all sent her mind spinning.

She forced herself to finish the letter. Most of her son's letters were self-censored and this one was no exception. He went on for a bit longer in regards to the weather, the food and the antics of the base mascot who liked to steal women's under-things. Her mind barely registered any of it.

John had a girl. Not just any girl. The daughter of a top executive at Ford Motors. She idly let the letter drop to her lap, mindful of the cat this time. John was her firstborn, her only son. She prayed daily for his safety and clearly God had answered those prayers, keeping him alive and providing this nurse to care for him.

She decided resolutely to add this Victoria Bishop to her prayer list, just to be on the safe side. Unlike some mothers, she wasn't about to meddle in her son's affairs. She and Frank had raised him to make sensible decisions and when it came time for him to get serious about a young woman, she only hoped he'd give his heart to someone who gave him hers in exchange. And that there would be rings on fingers before there were babies in arms. Not that it would be the end of the world if it didn't happen that way but it was still the preferred order of things to her way of thinking.

As she sat, contemplating all of this, the back door opened and closed and Frank Hutchinson called cheerfully, "Honey! I'm home!" Goose let out another happy woof and trotted out of the room. The thud of work boots being kicked off and clunk of a lunch box being set on the counter was followed by the opening of the refrigerator door and the rattle of glass bottles.

"Have a beer with me, Reenie?"

Beer? Maureen thought something stronger might be order.

"That'll be fine, hon, thanks."

Frank walked into the room, tall and still lean in middle age, just a touch of gray in his dark hair. He took in his wife's wide-eyed look and the letter laying open atop the annoyed looking cat.

"Is everything all right?"

Maureen took a deep breath. Normally a quiet woman, emotion got the better of her and the words tumbled out in a rush.

"Oh Frank, you won't believe this! You just won't believe any of it. John's been hurt bad but he's going to be all right and he's got a girl over there. It's Edward Bishop's youngest daughter, the one who was engaged to Senator St. Clair and then broke it off to join the Navy and it sounds like he might be serious about her although you know John, he never says half of what's really going on and – " she broke off, breathless.

Frank handed his wife the bottle and sank into the adjoining armchair. He stretched his feet out atop a foot stool and took a long drink.

"Reenie," he said slowly, "I think you'd better start at the beginning."

 **XXX**

 **Vella La Cava Navy Hospital**

 **Nurses' quarters**

 **1800 hours**

"Got plans for the evening?" Dee asked.

Tori hopped on one leg, pulling off her shoe as she and Dee walked down the hall toward their quarters. She couldn't wait to get out of the jumpsuit and into the shower. The day's heat was oppressive and even in the shaded, well-ventilated housing area the air prickled like it held an electric charge.

"I'm going to the base to see John," she said. "Doc Reese will kill him if he over-works that leg before it heals." She tipped dangerously forward and Dee caught her shoulder to keep her from toppling over. "So will I." Tori yanked off her sock and blissfully wiggled her toes on the tile floor. "Want to come with me?"

Dee made a face.

"Thanks but no thanks. I've got cramps and a headache. If I got near any of those guys tonight I'd probably kill one of them. It's a bottle of wine and an early night for me. Have you seen John since that night after we got back from Espritos?"

"No. Delmonte's kept me too busy."

"Kate told me Micklin's keeping a pretty close eye on him, tells him to go sit down a lot," Dee said helpfully.

"Wonder how that's working out."

"You know anyone on that base who doesn't listen to Micklin?"

"Mmmm . . . Kate, Greg . . . well, okay, I get your point. Anyway, John is supposed to be letting the other mechanics do the heavy lifting."

Dee snorted.

"Yeah. You'd better go check on him. Hey! I've got an idea." She ducked into her room and was back within seconds, holding a bottle of wine.

"Here. Casey brought me a couple of bottles from one of the Black Sheep's trade deals with an Aussie unit. This stuff is wonderful. You take one and enjoy it with John tonight. Maybe on the beach?" She grinned slyly.

Tori narrowed her eyes.

"Any more advice you want to give me?"

"Take condoms."

"Be serious!" Tori opened her door.

"I am! Have fun tonight." Dee paused in her doorway. "Be careful. I don't mean about the condoms - well, yeah, I do - but the air feels weird. Casey usually radios up here if there's anything in the forecast we should know about but I haven't heard from him today." She shrugged. "Their patrol went up late, maybe he wasn't around when Espritos sent the forecast. At least if we have a storm, maybe the air will cool off."

 **XXX**

Tori showered and in deference to the heat, put on a gauzy blouse and shorts. She grabbed the bag of medical supplies she always took when she visited the base, paused, then added the bottle of wine. After Ellen and Laura delayed her long enough to interrogate her about her evening plans and a brief detour to the kitchens for sandwiches and fresh fruit, she headed to the base.

Steering the jeep through the sultry evening air, she suddenly felt self-conscious about showing up like this, unannounced and for no particular reason except she wanted to see him again. The time they spent together seemed to be more accidental than intentional. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been dropping out of her window after telling her he loved her.

She found John on the line, half underneath Greg's plane, deep in conversation with the unit's CO. Kate was prowling with her camera, taking shots as the men discussed damage Tori couldn't see. She parked the jeep and watched the men. Dee called this particular activity "enjoying the scenery."

"Richardson's an ace with the welder, he'll have that good as new in no time," John said.

"Hey, Hutch, step in closer under the wing," Kate called, not lowering her camera.

He complied.

"Closer, more to the left please."

"Damn, Katie, I love these birds but I don't love 'em that much," he protested, taking another step that squashed him awkwardly in a crouch against the plane's underbelly.

"If you were snuggled up to Tori like that you wouldn't be complaining. Perfect. Don't move."

Tori laughed as Kate angled in for a few more shots.

"Thanks, that's all I needed." Kate waved to her and left.

"Hi, guys," Tori called.

John apparently forgot where he was and stood up, his head making solid contact with the wing. Tori heard the clunk from where she was standing and winced.

"Shit!" he said involuntarily.

"Good thing you've got your own personal nurse," Greg chuckled. He waved to Tori in acknowledgement and walked off.

"Are you all right?" Tori asked as John emerged from under the wing, rubbing his skull.

"Yeah. I have a hard head."

"Not arguing. Let me see."

"I'm fine."

"Never say that to a nurse. It makes us crazy. Let me see," she repeated firmly.

"You don't need to see anything."

"John Hutchinson, I've seen more of you than the top of your hard head."

He glared at her.

"Since you put it that way." He slumped into the passenger seat of the jeep. Tori stood on tiptoe and pulled his head toward her. His hair was thick and even though he was sweaty and hot, she found herself enjoying running her fingers through it.

"You're right," she said with satisfaction after a minute. "You have a hard head. No damage done."

"Told you so." When she tried to back up, he settled his hands around her waist. "You smell good." He leaned forward and kissed the side of her neck. Tori closed her eyes and let sensation sparkle through her. Then she opened them again. Greg was about 10 yards away, his back deliberately turned toward them, talking to Micklin, who was gesturing violently at something on a nearby aircraft.

"Stop that." Her words lacked conviction.

"Why?" He kissed the other side.

"Because we're . . . there are . . . you stink!"

"It's so damn hot, everybody stinks." He pressed his face against her hair and inhaled deeply. "Except you. I'll go take a shower. Wanna come with me?"

"No! I've already had a shower!"

"Don't let that stop you. I need someone to wash my back."

"I think you'll manage. I'll wait in the Sheep Pen. I brought supper – maybe we can find somewhere cooler to eat it."

"The Sheep Pen? You'd be safer in the shower with me."

"No one's going to mess with me. I have a reputation now, remember?" She touched the fading bruise on her cheekbone. It was a little embarrassing. "Even Greg said he was impressed."

"Try not to start another fight," John said as she got back in the jeep. "I'll see you in a bit."

 **XXX**

John's hair was still wet and he hadn't taken time to shave – again - but he was wearing a clean T-shirt and cut off shorts when he came into the Sheep Pen. Greg had talked Tori into playing poker with him, Jim and Don. She realized, belatedly, she would have been better off going to the showers with John.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Where are we going?" She frowned at her cards in concentration.

"Anywhere these yahoos aren't, no offense intended."

"None taken," Jim said cheerfully. "Your girl's a great nurse and a lousy poker player. I'm making money hand over fist."

"I'm no good at this game." Tori glared at her cards as if willing them to change. "I've got IOU's all over the place. They've taken me for $17 in less than 10 minutes. That's got to be some kind of record."

"It's not," Kate said drily from a nearby table where she was editing copy. "They took me for a lot more before I learned not to play with them."

"Bet you got your money's worth out of Greg," Jim snickered.

"Shut up, Gutterman. I can't believe my sister likes you." She flashed a grin at Tori. "The guys are in rare form tonight. If you stay here they won't give you any peace."

"All the more reason to leave." John looked over Tori's shoulder. "With that hand, I'd advise sooner than later."

She slid her chair back and tossed her cards on the table.

"I'm out."

"Hey Hutch, Tori said Dee gave her a bottle of that Aussie wine. You two can't drink the whole thing, you'd be three sheets in the wind – why don't you stay and share it with us?" Don suggested.

Greg looked up from his cards.

"That wine is too good to waste on this company," he said with a knowing grin. "Get out of here."

"Don't go too far, kids," Jim called as they turned for the door. "The base on Munda radioed 30 minutes ago. Sounds like there's a storm front headed our way. Could be a big one."

Tori looked through the window. Beyond the tree line, the sky was cloudless blue. She knew the weather in the South Pacific could change in a heartbeat but right now the evening shimmered with heat and light.

"What was Don saying about a bottle of wine?" John asked as they stepped outside.

"One of the boys' black market deals. Casey held some back for, um, private use, and Dee gave me a bottle." She paused, suddenly self-conscious again. "I thought maybe you'd like to share it with me?"

"Are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?"

They climbed into the jeep and John turned the ignition. Tori looked around. She was sure someone was watching them from inside the building but she didn't care. Leaning toward him, she twisted her hand in the loose fabric of his T-shirt. He turned, resting a hand across the steering wheel, that lazy grin making him look better than he had any right to.

"You know good and well you don't need to be drunk for me to take advantage of you," she said. He smelled wonderful, of soap and warm, clean male. "You can't keep your hands off me when you're sober."

"You admit it then, you have designs on my virtue." He leered at her pleasantly and she laughed, her earlier self-consciousness vanishing. It was impossible to be uncomfortable around him. He made her feel reckless and . . . well, reckless was probably enough.

"Your virtue is safe with me," she said primly.

"It doesn't have to be."

She leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

"As long as we're sitting out here in front of God and everybody, you've never been safer."

He chuckled and put the jeep into gear.

"Then we need to get out of here."

 **XXX**

It was warm on the beach but a breeze off the ocean lifted Tori's hair and slid pleasantly over her skin. They spread a blanket and John wrestled the cork out of the bottle, using the tiny corkscrew on his pocketknife, while she unpacked the picnic supper she'd scrounged from the hospital kitchen at Laura's suggestion.

"Next time Dee gives you a bottle of wine, ask her to give you a full-size corkscrew, too," he said through gritted teeth as he eased the cork out.

"Size matters?" She couldn't help grinning. It was nice to be here with him, away from the boys' prying eyes and endless teasing. Just the two of them, alone on a beach on a quiet summer evening.

"You used to be such a nice girl," John said, freeing the cork at last. "What happened?"

"I met the Black Sheep," she said and pulled two crystal glasses out of the picnic hamper.

"Wine glasses?" He blinked. "I figured we'd just drink it out of the bottle."

"Ellen loaned them to me when she found out I was coming out here."

The wine was ruby red and sparkled in the sun like liquid fire. Tori raised her glass, touched it lightly to his. The crystal chimed, the note ringing on the breeze.

John drank and studied the glass appraisingly.

"I'm more of a beer-from-the-bottle kind of guy but I could get used to this."

"Don't. It's the only bottle I've got. I'm sure Greg or Casey could come up with another one but there'd be a price tag on it. Nothing's free with that bunch of racketeers."

He chuckled.

"So Dee gave you a bottle of wine and Laura suggested you bring me supper and Ellen loaned you, whattaya call it, stemware. Are the girls trying as hard to get us together as the Black Sheep are?"

"I don't know." She sipped, contemplating him over the rim of her glass. "What are the Black Sheep doing?"

"Mostly making lewd suggestions," John said, biting into a sandwich. Tori joined him, thinking food always tasted better outdoors. They made quick work of the simple meal.

"Are we? Together, I mean?" she asked. In spite of him saying he loved her, she still had uncertainties. It was possible to love someone just because it was convenient. Look at her and Preston. She met John's eyes and saw the depth of emotion reflected there.

"Tori, you saved my life but I was in love with you before that. I just didn't realize it until then."

"I didn't save your life by myself." She was flustered now. She didn't want him to feel like he owed her anything. "I just . . ."

"You just kept me from bleeding to death and then gave your own blood when I needed a refill." He caught her hand, squeezed it and let go. "After that, I think we can handle anything that comes our way. Together."

The silence between them hummed.

"How's your leg feel?" she asked, trying to shift the conversation to safer ground, although around John she wasn't sure that existed. "That's why I came over here tonight – to check on you."

"Ah, a purely professional visit. Do you always bring wine when you check up on your patients?"

"Smart ass." She loved that he didn't push, that he knew how to back away when the conversation was too much for her.

He didn't say anything, just leaned back on his elbows and watched as she refilled their wine glasses. In the distance, thunder rumbled. Out over the water, Tori could see the rising stacks of cumulonimbus clouds, their hard, white tops billowing to 60,000 feet. The distant sky had gone indigo. Munda was right. It looked like a hell of a storm front moving their way.

"It's still miles off shore," John said as if reading her mind. He rolled lazily onto his side and pulled up the hem of his cut-offs. "Were you going to check on my leg?"

"I inquired about it," she said with mock politeness. "It would be unprofessional of me to assume you wanted me to examine you or to do so without your permission."

"I give you permission to be as unprofessional as you like."

Tori wedged her wine glass into the sand at the edge of the blanket and ran her fingers gently along his outer thigh.

"It's healing well." She was pleased. "How does it feel?"

"As long as you keep your hand there? Wonderful."

"Stop it. I'm serious."

"I am, too." His grin was impossible. "It twinges a bit and if I've been on my feet too much it really aches at the end of the day but it's fine."

His eyes were dark and his mouth curved with just the hint of a smile.

"You are not fine," she whispered. "You're not even healed completely."

"Let me show you . . . how fine . . . I am . . . ," He pulled her gently down next to him and she didn't resist. His kisses were a prelude to a dream, his teeth nipping at her lower lip and working down her throat. He ran his hand slowly over her figure like he had every right to it and she shuddered at the pleasure of his touch, wanting more. He was stroking the length of her thigh when lightning splintered the clouds off shore and thunder rumbled. Tori jumped and John lifted his eyes skyward.

"You're like a lightning rod for trouble," he said, his mouth still against her throat.

"Me?" She was having a little trouble concentrating.

"I can deal with getting shot at when I'm around you but getting hit by lightning is asking too much."

He got to his feet and pulled her up. They gathered the picnic things and raced the storm back to the base. Rain was falling in big, hard drops that stung the skin as John hastily parked the jeep under a lean-to and they ran for the Sheep Pen.

"Didn't we just leave this party?" Tori said as they dashed through the increasing rain.

"Think you can keep your hands off me if we go back in there?" Lightning danced overhead.

"You really are a smart ass."

"I'll take that as a yes. I don't want to ride this one out in a canvas tent."

Damp and windblown, they dashed up the steps and banged through the door.

"Back so soon?" Greg asked.

"Getting electrocuted wasn't what I had in mind for the evening," John said. He winked at Tori, who was grateful the wind and damp made it hard to tell she'd been rolling around on a blanket not that long ago.

"Did you save us any wine?" Don queried as the rain began pounding the roof in earnest.

"We drank it all," Tori said.

Casey studied them skeptically.

"You did not. Neither one of you would be standing if you had. That stuff's high octane. Kate and Greg are the only two people I know who could drink that whole bottle and still be able to function." He grinned. "Right, Greg?"

Thunder boomed, drowning out any reply, and rain sprayed through the windows, sending the pin-ups on the walls fluttering. TJ, who was sitting closest, yelped as the deluge drenched his back. The others laughed but joined him to close the windows.

The wind was moaning now, an eerie keening that rose and fell, pulling at the timbers until they creaked in protest. The boys assured Tori the Sheep Pen was the most structurally sound building on the base by merit of having been rebuilt several times due to either internal or external damage. Tori wasn't sure she believed them but John was right, it had to be better than a canvas tent even though she thought the building was swaying.

Kate abandoned her darkroom to join the small group. Meatball climbed out from under the table and sat in her lap. The howling wind made conversation nearly impossible. Tori noticed the men were shifting uncomfortably in spite of their assurances the building would hold. John wrapped an arm around Tori's shoulders and they sat, not speaking as the storm unleashed its fury. Rain pounded in a deluge that soon had water trickling through several places in the roof. Thunder rolled across the heavens and the very foundation of the building shook. Silver flashed through cracks around the closed windows as lightning forked overhead.

Kate raised her voice to carry over the commotion.

"I think we're okay as long as nobody hears a freight train."

"What?" Greg looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

"A freight train. You know – that's what a tornado sounds like. Aren't any of you from the Midwest?"

Casey and Jim both nodded. They'd been raised in Nebraska and Oklahoma, part of the States' infamous Tornado Alley.

"You can call it whatever you want, it's a toad strangler out there." Jim turned from the doorway. Rain reduced visibility beyond only a couple of yards. "It's raining hammer handles and pitchforks."

No sooner had he spoken than a flash of lightning painted the inside of the building with silver through the closed windows. Tori heard the snap and sizzle of something being incinerated as a million volts of electricity connected heaven and earth. The lights flickered and went out.

"There went the generator." Boyle said what they were all thinking.

Don stumbled around in the semi-darkness behind the bar, swearing, until he found a collection of thick, white candles stuck in coffee mugs. Striking a match, he lit them and set the collection of makeshift lamps on the table where they flickered in the air currents.

"I think the wind is letting up," Boyle said optimistically.

"Great, why don't you go out and check?" Greg suggested.

"Maybe I'll have another drink instead," he said. No one argued.

"You know how to show a girl a good time," Tori said quietly. John squeezed her shoulders.

"The night's not over yet, sweetheart."

She rolled her eyes. The Black Sheep's never-give-up attitude applied to more than just air combat.

Although violent, the storm was short-lived. Within three-quarters of an hour, the worst of the rain was over and only light showers filled the air as the clouds trailed away toward the next island in line for the onslaught.

Tori, Kate, Meatball and the boys emerged from the Sheep Pen into the watery dusk to view the damage. A small river ran past the building's steps. Palm fronds littered the ground and a few trees had been ripped from the ground.

"I'll bet Micklin's having a cat," John muttered. He turned to Tori. "Wanna come with me? He won't scream as much if you're there."

"Wouldn't miss it."

They drove slowly through the mud to the flight line. None of the planes had been damaged, although the canopy of Bragg's bird had blown open and as a result, the cockpit needed to be bailed out. Don consulted the gauge outside his tent and reported the base had received just over four inches of rain in 45 minutes. Jerry looked forlornly into his plane and said it looked more like four feet. Micklin handed him a canteen cup and said, "Start bailin', college boy."

Aside from a smoked generator, Bragg's cockpit and some damp personal belongings, the 214 had come through the deluge in sparkling shape. The heat had broken with the storm's passing and although still warm, the air had lost the oppressive dew points that fed the system's formation. An engineer declared the generator DOA until parts could be flown in from another unit. John walked Tori back to the jeep.

"There's never a dull moment with you, is there?" she said.

Before he could reply, Casey jogged toward them, avoiding the worst of the mud. He grinned at Tori.

"I've got good news and I've got bad news," he said.

"What's the bad news?" Tori asked.

"Dee called to make sure we're all okay. She said flash flooding took out the road south of the hospital. It's totally impassable." His grin got bigger as he looked at Tori. "You'll have to stay here tonight."

Several of the men chuckled.

"What's the good news?" she asked suspiciously.

Casey's grin broadened.

"Flash flooding took out the road south of the hospital. It's totally impassable. You'll have to stay here tonight."

Jim and TJ burst into laughter and Greg chuckled.

"You can bunk with me, I've got a spare cot," Kate offered, then added with a knowing smile, "unless you've got a better offer."

John wrapped an arm around Tori's waist and held her eyes. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. There was a great deal of ribald laughter from the men and Tori felt color come up in her cheeks. She squared her shoulders and slid an answering arm around his waist.

"Thanks, Katie, but I think I just got that better offer. Casey, would you call Dee back at the hospital and ask her to tell Delmonte I'll report in as soon as possible tomorrow?"

"Should I tell her you're in good hands?" Casey teased.

"You do and you'll wish you hadn't," Tori hissed, biting her lip to keep from smiling. "It appears I'm the only medical personnel on this base and –" she looked at John then back at Casey, "- I'm not going to have time to deal with you tonight."

They took the jeep back to John's tent near the flight line. Through the gathering twilight, Tori saw the sides were lashed down.

"Micklin must have done it for me," John said. "That guy does have a few redeeming qualities."

He untied the front flap and let her step in ahead of him. She was vaguely aware of him tying the flag shut behind them. In the soft gloom, the tent was as tidy as she remembered. He struck a match and a tiny flame flared, then grew as he lit a kerosene lantern and set it on the work table.

"Do I get the cot or the floor?" Tori's voice sounded shaky, even to her ears. She ordered herself to get a grip.

Without speaking, John pulled the blanket off his bunk, swirling it over the floor like it was the finest silk bedding. He tossed the pillow to join it, then took her hands and pulled her down next to him. She twisted to take the wine bottle out of the bag she'd brought in with her and wrenched the cork loose. She drank, then handed it to him.

"Still trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me, I see," he said and tipped the bottle up.

"Is it working?"

John set the bottle down.

"What do you think?"

Before she could answer, he leaned forward and kissed her. Only their mouths touched but her body responded with such a surge of heat she felt herself start to tremble again.

"I woke up with you next to me on the beach," he said softly. "I woke up with you next to me in the hospital. Tomorrow when we wake up together, I want to know what you look like, what you feel like. . . . I love you." His voice was husky. "Let me love you."

She brushed her lips across his, finally ready to answer the question that had hung between them since that night on the beach.

"Yes," she whispered.

With that single word, any hesitation dissolved as if washed clean by the rain falling softly on the canvas over their heads. In its place, new emotions surged in, desire and need flaming out any doubt that dared linger. John slid a hand around her waist and she felt trust wrap around her like a cloak.

His smile took her breath away.

"I've waited so long to hear you say that."

She didn't reply, just tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him. She wasn't sure if the tingly feeling resonating from her head to her toes was the result of the wine or the last of her good sense leaving her body.

He opened the top button of her blouse.

"What are you doing?" she whispered against his lips. Even though it was fairly evident, she felt compelled to ask.

"Sweetheart, you've seen me without a shirt for months. It's your turn." His grin was wicked. His tongue brushed hers as he opened the next button. Tori realized she'd undervalued the seduction of letting herself be undressed. John's hands were warm and rough as he slowly unfastened the remaining buttons, fingertips brushing her skin, and she'd never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted him now. She took a deep breath and willed herself not to tremble.

He drew her shirt open and tugged it off. Her white lace bra wasn't fancy but the way he looked at her made her feel like it was the finest lingerie she owned. John slid the straps over her shoulders and lowered his mouth to her breasts. When he moved to unfasten it, she gently pushed his hands away.

"Not yet."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Paybacks are hell," she whispered. "I've spent the last two months watching you run around half dressed, you can wait a little bit longer."

She ran her hands under his T-shirt and felt the muscles across his belly tighten at her touch. Taking the shirt's hem, she raised the fabric over his head. He pulled it off and tossed it aside, then wrapped his arms around her.

"That day at the waterfall nearly killed me," he said, his mouth against her throat. "You were so gorgeous and I kept imagining what you looked like under those wet clothes."

"You were such a gentleman – you only suggested I take them off once."

If someone had asked her later, Tori couldn't have told them if the floor was hard or soft, hot or cold. There was only John, the scent of his skin, the feel of his touch. Their clothes came off slowly and urgency built with the whisper of fingers against cloth and the lingering warmth of lips and tongues tasting bare skin.

He unhooked her bra and drew it off, drinking in the sight of her with open appreciation. Her nipples hardened in anticipation of his touch as he lowered his face to her breasts, teasing with teeth and tongue, the harsh rasp of razor stubble a delicious counterpoint to the sensuality of his mouth. She felt heat rush to her core, a surge of arousal that lit every nerve in her body.

She gave herself to the pleasure of his touch and when they were nude, in one another's arms, she felt none of the vulnerability she'd expected. Everything that made her a woman was in his hands and the power of it filled her until she thought she must be glowing.

The play of shadows from the lantern flame painted him in a shifting flicker of light and dark. She'd watched him on the line, seen those hands beating loose a recalcitrant bolt, seen the muscle cord in his arms as he lifted a repaired propeller blade back into place. Now they moved over her body, their power backed with underlying gentleness that she found more erotic than any whispered promise.

Stripped free of any encumbering clothing, the clean lines of his body sang like music under her fingers. She traced the definition of muscle across his shoulders and back, felt him shift in response to press hot and hard against her.

"You're perfect," she whispered. "Absolutely textbook perfect."

She stroked the lean curve of his hip down to the now familiar maze of scar tissue on the outside of his thigh, then to the smooth skin of his inner thigh, bringing her hand slowly higher to caress his testicles. He drew in his breath, then let it out on a low groan as she drew her fingers up the length of his shaft. She felt, rather than saw him open his mouth to speak as she closed her fingers around him.

"God. Your hands," he whispered, voice gone hoarse. "Tori, stop, or I swear this night's going to end too soon for both of us." He took her wrist and pulled her hand away, shifting to touch her in turn. He stroked his fingers along the slick heat between her legs and her response was so intense whatever self-control she still possessed shattered into a thousand pieces. His hand lingered, fingertips light as they brushed the very center of her being until desire pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

"I want to hear you to ask for it, Tor. I need to know this is what you want."

"Yes." Her voice was soft, breathless. "I want you."

He paused, reached for something in a box on the shelves near his bunk.

"Let me." She took the condom from him, relieved to find her fingers steady even though the rest of her body was entirely out of her control. She rolled it over him, savoring his rigid heat against her fingers.

He laid her gently on her back and Tori felt a moment's panic flash through her as he lowered himself over her, the last echo of a banished demon. She tensed involuntarily and he pulled back.

"All right?"

"Yes." Definitely all right. She'd never been so right. He shifted again and she felt his breath catch on a sharp intake of pain.

"Are _you_ all right?"

"No," he groaned. "Guess my leg isn't 100 percent yet." He settled his hands around her waist and rolling onto his back, lifted her onto him with no visible effort. "You get to drive tonight, sweetheart."

She straddled him, uncertain but willing. John rested his hands on her hips, letting her control the momentum. Tori eased onto him, savoring the heat and pressure as he entered her. When he filled her, she rocked her hips to sheath him fully, her body welcoming his with an instinct as old as time. He groaned and the sound drove arousal even deeper until her body hummed with it. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples until she whimpered.

She didn't realize how badly she'd wanted this, how afraid she'd been to give herself to him, until she was past the point of no return, wanting only to feel the demand of his body in hers. It was everything she'd dreamed of, trust and passion coming together, creating this undefinable magic.

Her hands met his, palm to palm, fingers twining loosely. She invited him deeper, keeping the rhythm slow as the power built, until she vibrated like a drawn bowstring, quivering with tension. She felt the raw strength of him under her and knew she was at his mercy, aware of every shared breath as he drove her helplessly toward oblivion.

She cried out with wordless sobs as the climax took her, her fingers clenched hard in his as wave after wave of pleasure engulfed her. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected anything like this. When John gripped her waist and drove up hard into her, she met the rough thrust without hesitation. Through the blood pounding in her ears, she heard his answering groan and felt him erupt to join her.

Minutes later, tiny ripples of sensation still trembling through her body, she realized she had collapsed on his chest, his hands splayed warmly across her bottom.

"Tor, sweetheart?"

"Mmmmm?"

"You're squashing me."

"Mmmmm."

He slapped her lightly on one buttock. She raised her face just enough to look into his eyes.

"It didn't seem to bother you before." She was reluctant to move. She wasn't sure she _could_ move.

"I wouldn't say it bothers me now but I think we could be more comfortable if you would, um, get off me for a minute."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Never thought you'd have me flat on my back in my own tent. Greg and Kate don't even do this. In their tents, I mean."

Tori shifted slowly, easing herself off to curl next to him. John cradled her head on his shoulder.

"I imagine both of them have a lot more traffic around their tents than you do," she said. "You're out here on the edge of nowhere. And how do you know what they do, anyway?"

"Greg mentioned it once. No loving in tents - too easy to get interrupted. I think that's Kate's rule, not his. That's why they always go to the north lagoon."

"The lagoon?"

"Don't tell me Kate never mentioned it. I _know_ you girls talk."

"She might have mentioned it."

"Might have mentioned it, my sweet aunt." He chuckled. "That's _their_ spot and everyone knows it."

She lay, listening to the rain drip from the tent's eaves. The soft flame of the lantern cast shadows across the canvas above their heads.

"John?"

"Mmmm?"

She paused, unsure how to capture the essence of what he had given her.

"I love you," she said simply.

He shifted to face her, one hand resting on the flat of her belly and her body hummed at his touch.

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

"Thank you."

"There you go again, thanking me. For what?"

"For being you," she said softly.

"In that case," he said, "I'm not done."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

She was warm and supple in his arms in the pre-dawn stillness and there were no spoken words, just the silent language of their bodies. Sleepy sensuality ignited with a touch and he wondered if he would ever get enough of her.

Still not trusting his leg, he shifted his hands to her waist, guiding her, and she stretched out over him, the scent of her skin as intoxicating as wine. Her mouth brushed his, teeth nipping at his lower lip as the slick heat of her body welcomed him. She winced slightly as he entered her and he hesitated with a moment's guilt. Lord, the girl wouldn't be able to walk after the night they'd shared and now he was asking her for more.

"Don't stop," she whispered. Those dark blue eyes silently dared him to argue as she rotated her hips, pulling him deeper. Her lips parted, breath coming in quick gasps as her need matched his. She was beautiful in the pale light sifting into the tent, her skin glowing ivory, nipples dusky pink and hard against his palms.

He ran his hands from her shoulders to hips, her skin like silk under his fingers. The taut muscles of her belly and back trembled as he felt the power building within her. She held nothing back, riding him hard and meeting the demand of his body with her own, her willingness taking his arousal to heights he'd never imagined.

He felt her body shudder and her muscles clenched on him, her breath a soft moan. He slowed his thrusts, savoring the moment. It took everything he had but feeling the release explode through her was worth the agonizing pleasure of his own restraint. She called his name, her voice liquid heat on the soft morning air, and he never wanted her to stop. Screw it. His tent was closer to the jungle than any of the other men's, virtually isolated, and if Micklin heard them he wouldn't say anything. Well, at least not to anyone but him. He could feel the tremors still rippling through her when her tight heat overcame his control and he let himself go, reveling in the gift of her body.

She tumbled off him, limp and sated, and pillowed her head against his shoulder.

"I love you John," she murmured drowsily.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

"Do we need to get up yet?"

"No, not for a while."

When she didn't respond, he lifted his head to study her face and realized she'd already dozed off. Well, they _had_ been up most of the night. He relaxed, shifting on the hard floor of the tent, and cradled her close. He could think of worse ways to start the day.

 **XXX**

Tori felt the warmth of John's eyes on her and smiled. She stretched, opened her own eyes and realized it was full daylight and she was absolutely starkers. She let out a squeak of self-consciousness and rolled onto her stomach.

"A little late for modesty, don't you think?" His voice was rich with humor.

She wrapped her arms around the pillow and snugged it close, letting her eyes linger on the lean planes of his body. He was right. After what they'd shared, it was entirely too late for modesty. She didn't speak. Her heart and mind were both too full.

John rose, his back to her, and stepped into his skivvies. She admired the view while wondering where her own underclothing had gone. While she was looking around the tent, he tossed an impossibly small handful of white lace at her. He looked away while she pulled on panties and bra, almost shyly, as if the full-blown admiration he'd shown last night was something reserved for the intimacy of hours between twilight and dawn.

She picked her crumpled shorts and blouse off the floor and shook them out.

"Oh," she groaned, "these look like I slept in them."

"My clothes look like that all the time."

"That's fine for you. Guys don't care about wrinkles."

"Tor?" He pulled her into his arms. "Honey, wrinkled clothes are going to be the least of your problems this morning."

She blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"The way I see it, you've got two choices: go to breakfast in the mess with me and face the guys now or try to sneak out of here and it'll be 10 times worse when one of them sees you – and one of them _will_ see you. Ask Katie some day how well sneaking out of a tent works." He pulled his gaze from her to glance at the door of his own tent. "And for the love of God, hurry up and get dressed because they all know you're here and I can't guarantee how much privacy we'll have now the sun's up."

Even as he spoke, she could hear movement outside, the shouts and scuffling of men making their way to the latrines and wash rack.

Tori considered her options while she pulled on her clothes. She caught sight of herself in a small shaving mirror sitting atop the ammo crate dresser. John was right. Wrinkles were the least of her concern. Her eyes were luminous, skin glowing and hair deliciously rumpled. The boys would take one look at her and she'd have no secrets. She looked at John. He gave her a lazy smile. She closed her eyes. Lord. With a smile like that, he wouldn't have any secrets either.

She'd never been in this position before. When she and Preston were engaged, she never spent the night at his house, never woke up with him in the morning. It was as if her presence would somehow damage his reputation. It was clear that not only had John been delighted to wake up with her in his arms, he had no reservations about squiring her to breakfast in front of God and all the Black Sheep.

Tori sighed. The only possibly good thing about this was that while the boys would tease her mercilessly, they wouldn't judge. And maybe since they assumed she and John had already slept together after Anderson's party, they'd go easier on her now.

Who was she kidding. Spending a night together on the beach was nothing when compared to spending a night on the base. According to the girls, _that_ rarely happened. She would rise to a new height of celebrity as far as the Black Sheep were concerned. She realized she didn't care.

"Hey Hutchinson! Bishop! You two alive in there?" Jim's voice boomed from outside.

Tori hastily finished buttoning her blouse. She ran her fingers through her hair and hoped for the best.

"See, what did I tell you?" John opened the front flap and sunshine flooded the tent. Jim lounged negligently, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face.

"You kids make it through the night okay?" He peered over his shoulder as Tori tossed the pillow back onto the bunk and folded the blanket.

"The floor? Really?" Jim chuckled. "Things got that wild?"

"Shut up, asshole," John said amiably. "What do you want?"

Jim stepped into the tent and grinned at Tori, who was pulling on her shoes.

"Good morning, Lieutenant."

"Good morning, Captain." She grinned back. Resistance was futile. She wasn't sure what was coming but braced herself for it.

"You sure take your patient follow-up care seriously." Behind him, John rolled his eyes. "How's he doing?"

"I'd say he's made a full recovery," she said tartly. "Did you come out here for a reason? Or just to be nosy?"

Jim crossed his arms and rubbed his chin.

"Believe it or not, I'm here on official business." He turned to John. "Greg sent me – he wants to see you in the Sheep Pen as soon as you're, um, up." Another smirk. "I tried telling him you've probably been up most of the night – "

"Out." John spun Jim around by the shoulders and gave him a shove toward the door. "Tell Greg I'll be there soon enough."

"Go easy on him, Tori, he's a wounded man!" Jim called over his shoulder.

John pulled on trousers and boots and they stepped out into the morning sunshine. Tori paused to survey the damage that hadn't been visible the previous night. The planes were speckled with bits of windblown leaves and a palm frond waved jauntily from where it had landed on the prop of the nearest bird.

The deluge had done a number on the Black Sheep's airstrip, which hadn't been in great shape to start with. The onslaught cut massive gullies through the packed earth and several palm trees had been toppled, their lengths laying across the quagmire.

"Let's go see how barbecued the eggs are this morning." John offered her his arm and together they picked their way around the worst of the mud to the mess tent.

"Ready?" He paused near the door and looked at her. Inside, she could hear the low hum of conversation and clink of cutlery. The scent of coffee overcame any hesitation.

"None of them have any room to talk," she said firmly. "It's not like they've never woken up with a girl before."

"I won't argue with that but none of them have ever come in here with their girl on their arm after they woke up with her."

A warm flush rose through her at his words. She was his girl. The thought was simple and complicated and absolutely delicious all at the same time.

"Not even Greg and Kate?"

"Nope. Well, they do now but they didn't at first."

She matched his grin.

"How's it feel to be a trendsetter?"

"Never been called that before," he muttered. "After you."

Tori stepped into the mess. For a second, she could have heard a pin drop, then someone started clapping, a slow, lazy sound that grew in volume as the other men joined in. Someone whistled and Bobby Anderson stood, doffed an imaginary cap and bowed.

"So honored by your presence, Lieutenant. You look quite fetching this morning. I trust you slept well?"

Tori gave him a sideways glance from under her lashes.

"How I slept is none of your business," she said without raising her voice.

Bobby affected a stage pose.

"Ah, methinks the lady did not sleep."

Tori backhanded him lightly in the stomach as she walked by.

"Methinks you should mind your own business, least ill fate befall you."

Bobby groaned and clutched his mid-section. The boys howled with laughter and conversations picked up where they'd left off. Tori spooned dubious looking powdered eggs onto her tray and added toast and coffee. She and John sat down across from Greg and Jim.

"That's all you're having?" Jim eyed her tray. "I thought you'd have worked up an appetite last night."

"My appetites are no concern of yours," Tori said, inhaling the steam wafting off the coffee.

"I'd guess a girl like you has a healthy appetite." Jim returned the volley. "Whattaya say, Hutch, did you give her enough to fill her up?"

To his credit, John nearly choked on his toast while other Black Sheep made helpful suggestions about secluded places on the island the two of them might like to visit in the future.

The banter seemed destined to go on forever although surprisingly enough, Tori found herself not nearly as self-conscious as she'd expected to be. The men's teasing carried a warm undertone of approval. In a world where there were no guarantees of tomorrow, they found a great deal of comfort in living for the moment.

"Give it a rest, you meatheads," Greg said finally. "You'd think no one around here ever got laid."

Anderson opened his mouth to say something, saw the look on Greg's face and closed it again.

Having recovered enough to speak, John asked, "Jim said you wanted to see me?"

Greg pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and tossed it on the table.

"Lard called over here first thing this morning. He wants you and Micklin to be available to talk to some hotshot paper-pusher from the States who's coming out on a fact-finding tour for the B-24s. He'll be here sometime in the next few weeks. Didn't give a specific date but we're on his agenda. Me, since the boys have flown cover for them a couple of times, and you two, as mechanics."

"The Liberators?" John frowned. "I don't know anything about them. They were just a prototype when I was in boot camp." He frowned. "Our strip isn't even long enough to land one on. So why come out here?"

Greg shook his head.

"I know. Try telling Lard that. I don't know what this guy wants, maybe just maintenance information from the theatre in general. He's spending most of his time with the brass on Espritos but specifically requested a side trip here. I wanted to give you and Micklin a heads up if you need to get your thoughts together."

"I'll be happy to talk to the man but I don't know if I can tell him anything useful," John mused.

"If he's like most of the bean counters they send out here, you could tell him the muffler belt needs to be changed every 50 hours and he'd think it was useful."

John laughed appreciatively.

"I'll remember that. What time are you going up today?"

"Our mission's been scrubbed on account of half the strip is gone," Greg said. "You'll have an extra day to catch up on maintenance." He grinned, looked at Tori, grinned broader. "Or catch up on sleep."

She saw the warm amusement in his smile and rolled her eyes.

"I'll let you boys talk shop," she said and picked up her tray to move down the scarred table to sit across from Kate, who'd come in a few minutes earlier. The correspondent put down her fork and broke into a grin as Tori settled on the bench.

"How were the accommodations last night?" Kate's eyes sparkled with good humor.

"Five star." Tori sipped her coffee and didn't bother trying to hide her smile.

"Good room service?"

"Absolutely first rate service."

"Did you get a wakeup call this morning?"

It was Tori's turn to sputter. Down the table, the men's heads turned. She hastily recovered without spraying coffee. John caught her eye and quirked his eyebrows. Tori managed a bright smile. He winked. She turned back to Kate.

"Yes," she said. "And the timing was perfect."

 **XXX**

After breakfast, Greg and Casey went to the communications shack and started wheeling and dealing for a Seabee unit to repair the airstrip. Their machinations had barely begun when the radio crackled with an incoming call from the hospital. It was Dee, asking Casey to relay a message that Delmonte was on the warpath and Tori should make haste to get back as fast as she could.

Tori and John drove as far as the road would take them, followed by Kate in a second jeep to give John a ride back. As much as Tori would have loved nothing more than to stay on the base, she knew if she didn't make an effort to get back to the hospital reasonably soon, Delmonte would demand a full accounting of her time. _That_ wasn't going to happen.

They arrived at the washout to find a couple of maintenance workers from the hospital standing on the far side, scratching their heads. If they'd been sent to do a quick patch job, the task was clearly beyond their means.

"Morning, ma'am!" one of the men called cheerfully.

"Good morning!" she called back, stepping out of the jeep and walking to look over the edge. In the light of day, the washout didn't look too daunting. The previous night, the broad ditch running full with thousands of gallons of muddy water being funneled down from the surrounding hills would have been impassable.

While Tori privately thought nothing would make Delmonte happier than to have the nurses and the Black Sheep separated on a permanent basis, she knew any driver with a bit of skill would be able to navigate the sloping sides and now shallow water in the rocky bottom of the wash.

John came to stand next to her.

"Looks jeepable. If you keep it in low gear, I think you could stay on the rocks and follow the streambed to the east until you see where the bank slopes up, there, just past that clump of trees." He pointed. "Then punch it up the other side. Stay in low and don't jerk the wheel and you'll make it all right."

"Are you telling me how to drive?" she asked quietly.

"Wouldn't dream of it," John murmured, his hand on her hip. "I think you know what you're doing."

Kate strolled a few yards away and purposefully faced the other direction, examining a rock.

Tori put her hands on John's shoulders and kissed him lightly.

"I'll see you soon," she whispered.

"Counting on it. Now get back to work before Delmonte finds an excuse to put you under hack. I don't want to have to climb in and out of your window to see you."

"You'd do that?"

"What do you think?" The look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

Tori climbed back in the jeep and edged it over the lip of the road. After a stomach-dropping lurch, the sturdy vehicle reached the bottom of the ditch and splashed through the standing water. She followed the streambed for 50 yards before aiming the jeep's nose up the most moderate part of the grade on the opposite bank. She accelerated evenly and with the wheels throwing clods of mud, the jeep clawed its way upward, lurching onto terra firma with a dramatic fishtail that owed more to accident than intention. Tori braked. John and Kate waved from across the span. Tori tossed them a salute and headed back to the hospital.

 **XXX**

She dropped the jeep at the motor pool and double-timed it back to the nurses' quarters. It was 0730. She wasn't due on duty until 0800 so she had time for a fast shower. The musk of their loving lingered on her skin and Tori knew she was going to have enough trouble keeping her mind on her job today without the constant reminder of John's touch.

Dee met her in the hallway. She was beaming.

Here comes round two, Tori thought.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Bishop," Dee sing-songed.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Ryan," Tori returned, unable to keep the smile off her face.

"And how was your night?"

"Would you believe you're about the 20th person to ask me that?"

"Ah, you had breakfast with the Black Sheep, didn't you?" Dee said. "How was that?"

"Nobody got hurt."

"You didn't answer my question – how was your night?"

"You know something? You're even nosier than Kate."

"She says I missed my calling in the press corps," Dee returned cheerfully. She studied Tori with a critical eye. "Your clothes look like you slept in them. You didn't, did you? Sleep in them, I mean?"

Tori stopped walking and leaned against the wall. She closed her eyes and gave up.

"No." She opened her eyes and gave Dee a dazzling smile. "I most certainly did not."

 **XXX**

Life went on. The girls teased her mercilessly – which she expected - and pestered her for details – which she refused to give – until finally Laura said with authority, "Of course it was good, just look at her. Have you ever see a girl glowing like that? I mean, it's been four days and she's still lit up like the morning sun."

"He's got wonderful hands," Tori said, blushing.

"And everything else, I expect," Dee observed.

"Don't you have anyone else to interrogate?"

Dee sighed.

"Probably. But you're so much fun. You and John are so . . . so . . .," she sputtered for words.

"When you figure it out, let me know," Tori said and went back to work.

 **XXX**

A week later, something happened that took the girls' focus off her and John.

"Did you hear the news?" Ellen burst around the corner to the nurses' station, her eyes wide with excitement.

Tori, Dee and Laura looked up from the duty roster they were studying. Without giving them a chance to reply, Ellen continued, "Admiral Halsey is launching a bunch of small scale air drops on New Georgia and he's ordered the Army to use La Cava as a staging area for one of them. A platoon from the 148th Army Airborne is bivouacked on the edge of the 214's base. Our boys will fly air support to cover their drop in seven days."

Dee caught her breath.

"You mean the Black Sheep and the Army have to live next to each other for a week? We'd better inventory our blood supply." Seeing Tori's confused look, she added, "This sort of thing happened once before. Our patient intake increased substantially before the Army pulled out."

"I was just there and tempers are already frayed," Ellen said. "Greg sent Kate back with me to bunk here until those guys clear out."

"For Kate's safety or for the Army's?" Tori asked. The correspondent took a dim view of being treated with anything less than respect for her gender and occupation. While Tori knew the Black Sheep got away with a level of teasing Kate wouldn't tolerate from anyone else, she also knew Kate wouldn't back down from a confrontation if one arose. Greg was probably justified in sending her here. They were already living in a war zone. Dropping the Army into a Marine base was sending coals to Newcastle. The Black Sheep were known for a lot of things but gracious hospitality to the Army wasn't one of them.

The front door to the hospital swung open and the girls looked up to see Kate walk in, a duffle slung over her shoulder, an irritated look on her face and Meatball on a leash at her side.

"Greg shipped us out. It's getting rough." She jerked her head toward the south end of the island. "He was worried someone was going to get bit."

Tori didn't bother to ask. She blew out her breath.

"This is going to be a long week."

 **XXX**

 **Six days later**

 **The Sheep Pen**

"This is bullshit!"

Hutch and several other boys looked up in surprise. Usually mild-mannered, Casey stomped across the room and slammed his fist down on the bar.

"Those Army boys march in here and act like they own the place. They set up camp on our football field, they took over our volleyball court, they're partying all night while we're still up there flying early missions every day. Hell, Katie and Meatball had to leave for their own safety and none of the other girls come out here in the evenings any more. I haven't seen Dee in a week."

"You're grumpy when you're not getting laid," Jim mused.

"Shut up," Casey snarled.

"Case in point," Jim said and went back to reading the paper.

Hutch sipped his beer. He hadn't seen Tori for a week either. Between working on the 214's aircraft and being treated like an all-purpose laborer by the CO of the Army platoon whose boys were good at breaking everything and bad at fixing any of it, he'd barely had time to sleep.

"They'll be gone day after tomorrow," Greg said. "Let's see if we can not kill any of them before then. You know how Lard feels about ground casualties before a campaign even starts. Although . . ." His voice grew thoughtful. "We may have to share our base but no one said we had to turn over the keys to the liquor cabinet."

As of one accord, their heads all turned to Kate's darkroom. For the first time ever, the door had a solid lock. Greg installed it himself the day the 148th moved onto the 214's base. Not only did it guarantee the correspondent wouldn't have her film ruined by the door opening at an inopportune time, it provided a safe place to store the unit's Scotch. Kate and Greg held the only keys, which had put a fine edge on the Black Sheep's thirst.

As if reading their minds, Greg reached into his pocket and tossed the key in the air. "I think it's time we invite our girls over for drinks." His eyes sparkled. "It'll be a private party, Black Sheep and their ladies only."

 **XXX**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Laura reflected the edginess they all felt.

"We're doing this for the boys' morale," Dee said staunchly. "We have to keep our fighting men's spirits up."

"We're doing this because we're all going stir-crazy at the hospital," Tori said, shifting the jeep into a higher gear as they bounced down the road to the fighter base.

She was right. The girls had been deluged with wounded being transferred through La Cava to the _USS Solace_ , a hospital ship anchored off shore, and their workload had been relentless. Beyond that, Tori and the other girls were chafing under restricted access to the 214. She missed John. Dee missed Casey. Kate missed Greg. Ellen missed Bobby. And Laura missed TJ although theirs was the only truly platonic relationship among the group. Tori didn't think any of them realized how important their involvement with the boys was – plutonic or not – until they were cut off from them.

Kate still spent part of her days on the base, since her field office and dark room were there, but Greg made it clear he did not want her anywhere near the place after dark. The Black Sheep respected women but none of them trusted the Army any further than they could throw them. Kate bunked with Dee and the girls took turns shuffling Meatball between their rooms, staying one step ahead of Delmonte who would have had a conniption fit if she found out the terrier was living in the nurses' quarters. Meatball was delighted with the arrangement. That morning, Tori had woken up with the dog nestled contentedly against her, his head pressed against her breast with more enthusiasm than Tori thought was necessary.

"We'll have a few drinks with our guys and be back to the hospital by 2200, agreed?" Dee said authoritatively. "We stay in the Sheep Pen. No sneaking off anywhere. No matter what the boys want." She glared at Ellen. The curvy auburn-haired girl flushed. She and Bobby Anderson were famous for their opportunistic trysting about the base.

"Yeah. What can go wrong with that?" Kate muttered.

Tori steered the jeep past the tent city on the edge of the base. There were only 20 paratroopers in the small platoon although they'd arrived with enough support personnel to more than double that number. Cat-calls split the warm evening air but the girls kept their faces resolutely forward. Two Army boys jogged into the jeep's path, flagging their arms to indicate they should stop.

"That's not happening," Tori muttered and accelerated.

"Tor – you're going to run over them!" Laura squeaked.

"Then they better get out of the way," Tori replied through gritted teeth. She swung the wheel at the last minute, careening around the stunned men as they stumbled backward, irritation on their faces.

She parked by the Sheep Pen, amused at how much she was looking forward to seeing John again, even under these limited circumstances. The thought of being with him again made her bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling too broadly. She missed his off-beat humor. She missed the way she felt when he looked at her. She just missed _him_. A few drinks, a little socializing, then back to the nurses' quarters. That would have to do. For now.

"Ladies!" Bobby Anderson held the door as he bowed them into the building. Whisky splashed, glasses clinked and Tori felt the strain of the last week fall away. The familiar flirty atmosphere of the Sheep Pen was a welcome respite. Greg and Jim were recruiting players for a poker game, the former smoking a cigar and the latter wearing a cowboy hat, his sidearm in its shoulder holster. Casey was scribbling numbers on the big chalkboard that tracked the squadron's black market deals across the Southwest Pacific. Bragg and French had their heads bent together in some unholy conspiracy. John was lounging with his feet propped on a table, reading the _San Francisco Examiner_. TJ was behind the bar. It felt like coming home, Tori realized, meeting John's smile as he tossed the paper aside and rose to greet her.

Home and family. That was silly, she thought. She wasn't related to a single one of these people but they were every bit as much family as her parents and sister back in Michigan. It wasn't the name, it was the bond, the shared pride in victory and the shared sorrow in loss. Family was worth valuing, worth protecting. Family – in whatever form it took – was the most important thing in the world. And this backwater of the war was where she not only fit it but flourished.

John wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her. She returned the embrace with as much enthusiasm as it was given, not caring at all they were surrounded by other men.

"It's been too long, sweetheart," he whispered. His nose pressed against her neck and Tori could hear him inhaling.

"What are you doing?"

"You smell good."

"You tickle. Have you shaved lately?" But she didn't want him to stop.

"No. I told you once, shaving is overrated."

He kissed her again and she tried hard to remember Dee's warning not to leave the building.

"Hey Hutchinson, when you two come up for air, Boyle and I'll take you on in team darts," Bragg called.

"You know anything about throwing darts?" John barely lifted his mouth from hers.

"Of course," she said, pushing him back gently. "I took lessons."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"I am. I've never thrown darts in my life."

"You can't be any worse than Jerry," John said. "For someone who's pretty good upstairs, he's got really lousy aim on the ground."

The darts game quickly deteriorated into a free for all. When Jerry's first throw stuck into the window frame next to the board, he tapped Kate, who was the only other person on the island who could match Boyle's skill, to take his place. Kate agreed, then immediately flipped sides and claimed Tori as her partner, pitting John and Boyle against the two girls. John turned out to have a fair hand at the game and the boys were edging the girls in spite of Kate's skilled play. Tori took things into her own hands and stepped up behind John as he prepared to throw. Resting her hands lightly on his waist, she stretched up and blew in his ear. The dart sailed out the window.

"You're not so good at darts but you're good at cheating," he muttered.

Kate and Tori high-fived each other. The men turned back to the bar for refills. Anderson and Ellen were occupied with each other in one corner. Dee was helping Casey, reading numbers off a sheet of paper while he transcribed them onto the chalkboard. Greg, Jim and several other boys were intent on their poker game under a wreath of cigar smoke.

Tori jumped when the front door slapped open with enough force to bang against the wall. The men's heads turned and in a breath, the relaxed atmosphere suddenly hummed with tension.

Army First Lieutenant Gerald Sloan swaggered into the room, followed by half a dozen of his men.

"Funny, I don't recall gettin' an invite to this party." He was tall and thickly built, with coarse features and a perpetual sneer.

"Must have got lost in the mail," Greg said evenly.

Sloan's eyes ran over the girls.

"I knew you boys got top shelf Scotch. I didn't know you got such top shelf women to go with it."

Greg lifted the bottle sitting on the table in a gesture of good will.

"We'll share our Scotch, since we're already sharing our base. But we don't share our girls."

"Maybe you should let your girls make that decision." Sloan's eyes raked over Dee's petite form. "Good things come in small packages, don't they, sugar."

"I'm not your sugar." Dee's tone was ice as the lieutenant's eyes raked over her. Casey didn't move from the board but Tori saw his hands flex. She shifted uneasily and next to her, Kate rocked her weight to the balls of her feet.

"Why don't you boys have a drink and then find the door," Greg said evenly. "This is a private party." He pushed the bottle toward the edge of the table.

Sloan ignored him and strolled further into the room, his men spreading out behind him.

"That's right friendly of you, Major. We'll take you up on a little drink. Maybe a little something to go with it. We like _private_ parties."

His eyes drifted lazily to Tori.

"Mmmm, mmmm, what have we here?" He squeezed her arm with an uninvited suggestion of intimacy.

"If you want to keep that hand, Lieutenant, I suggest you keep it to yourself." Tori's voice was steel.

"Don't get in too big of a hurry, girl. Give me a little time and I'll have you begging for my hand." Nearby, a few of his men sniggered.

"That's _Lieutenant Bishop_ to you. And you'd be better off grabbing your dick with it. That way at least one of us would be satisfied."

Behind her, Greg laughed out loud.

"She was such a nice girl before she hooked up with you," he said to John. "I think you've corrupted her."

John shrugged.

"I'm not sure I had anything to do with it," he said. "Must be something in the air out here."

Sloan narrowed his eyes.

"You're a pretty little piece but you got a mouth on you." He turned to John. "She yours?"

Tori roughly brushed Sloan's hand off her arm and answered before John could speak.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm his."

Sloan's expression, if possible, grew even more condescending. He turned back to John.

"You let her talk to you like that?"

John shrugged.

"She doesn't complain when I touch her."

"She lets you touch her? That's a pretty classy girl you got there, grease monkey. Maybe she'd like a piece of something a little more evolved."

Tori saw temper flicker in John's eyes but he didn't move. The stillness settling over the room was ominous, not that the boys from the 148th noticed.

"Bet you're a little wildcat. Let's you and me get to know each other better." Sloan reached for her arm again.

What Tori's punch lacked in technique, she made up for with speed. She'd never hit anyone with a closed fist before but her aim was true. Her knuckles landed with the full force of her 5 feet, 7 inches behind them and Sloan staggered backward, blood streaming from his nose. She heard Greg mutter, "Oh hell! Here we go again."

"Fucking bitch!" the lieutenant yelled thickly as he tried to staunch the bleeding. He lunged for Tori. John's solid right hook finished what she had started and Sloan crumpled.

Chaos erupted. Tori had witnessed a few of the Black Sheep's minor dust-ups before and knew they were usually short lived but this was full-fledged Marines versus Army mayhem. She realized, belatedly, that slugging Lieutenant Sloan might have been ill-considered. John was right. Living out here brought out a side of Edward and Portia Bishop's youngest daughter her parents never would have dreamed existed.

If anything, the boys seemed to appreciate an excuse to slug anything wearing an Army uniform. They threw themselves into the brawl with a practiced teamwork that suggested they fought as well on the ground as they did in the air. Tori swore the 214's men were grinning as the fists flew. The melee seemed to be a pressure valve for the stress that had been building since the 148th's arrival. John and Anderson tag-teamed the unfortunate Sloan who'd lumbered back into the fight, while Greg ripped through the opposition with frightening efficiency, backed by Jim, Casey and the other boys.

Tori worked her way along the wall with the intention of joining Dee and the other girls near the bar where they were avoiding the worst of it. Motion outside the window caught her eye and Tori saw a dozen or more of Sloan's men, drawn by the shouts, striding toward the building with blood in their eyes.

If they made it up the steps, the Black Sheep would be outnumbered at least three to one. Not that those odds would bother them, she realized, but she wasn't having it. She looked frantically around the room. Jim was the closest, having just tossed an unfortunate paratrooper across a table.

"Jim! Give me your gun!"

" _What_?" He looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

Tori held out her hand impatiently.

"I don't plan on shooting you with it."

His expression didn't change.

"I don't plan on shooting anyone else either! Trust me!"

Jim shook his head.

"That's how the trouble starts, with a nurse saying trust me."

"The trouble's already started and it's about to get worse! Come on!"

Jim unholstered his Colt 1911 and held it out to her, butt first. Tori took the weapon from him gingerly.

"You know what you're doing?"

"Um, yeah, kinda." She studied the gun. "I've shot handguns at the club with Father."

"There's – " Jim started.

"Look out!" Tori yelped. She flattened herself to the wall. Jim turned as a blur of Army uniform launched at him and the two men crashed by her in a fury of swinging fists. Tori continued her examination of the gun. If this didn't work, things were going to get bloodier in a hurry and it wasn't going to have anything to do with firearms.

"There's one in the chamber," Jim yelled over his shoulder. He threw a jab that sent his opponent reeling. "Just release the thumb safety, wrap your fingers around the grip and hang on tight, darlin'." He grinned and shot a look at John. "I'm guessing you can manage that."

Tori narrowed her eyes. _Men_. Before she could say anything, Jim rejoined the brawl.

John laid out one of the Army boys with a haymaker and his momentum brought him up short next to her. Tori grabbed his shoulder with her free hand and steadied him. He looked at her, then the Colt, and grinned.

"No idea what you're doing, sweetheart, but you'll have to pull the hammer back before you can fire that thing," he advised.

"But Jim said there's already a round in the chamber," she said, momentarily confused.

John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, it's Jim's? Well, of course there is. Then you're good to go." He ducked back into the fight.

Tori bit her lip. The crash of splintering wood jerked her head up in time to see Anderson swing a chair and catch one of the combatants in the midsection. The man staggered backward, arms cart-wheeling toward her. She braced herself against the wall and raising one foot, planted it squarely in the small of his back and shoved. He lurched forward and cracked heads with one of his own men.

Greg straightened after dropping one of Sloan's men with one-two punch. He looked at her, then the gun, then shook his head.

"Try not to kill anyone, Bishop. That'd make a helluva lot of paperwork." He added, "That trigger doesn't take much pressure," and dove back into the fight.

Tori took a deep breath and flicked off the safety. She adjusted her grip and one of the nearby paratroopers paused mid-swing to stare at her in disbelief. John took advantage of the man's distraction to lay him out over a table.

"Whatever you're planning, Tor, you might want to do it soon. Looks like we're gonna have company." He nodded toward the window where the rest of Sloan's men were coming en masse and picking up speed. John blocked a punch and followed it up with one of his own, then went to rescue TJ who was being thoroughly pummeled in a headlock.

Tori ignored the sound of smashing glass behind her. Holding the gun in a lowered, two-handed grip, she kicked the door open and stepped outside just as the first of the paratroopers reached the base of the steps. She raised the Colt and took aim at a cluster of coconuts hanging from a palm tree at the side of the building. She squeezed the trigger. The shot went wide, shredding leaves, and a flock of parrots rose with a colorful shriek into the sky. Tori blinked in surprise. The gun had fired faster and easier than she'd expected. She adjusted her aim and fired again. This time, two coconuts broke loose, landing with a metallic clang that left a dent on the hood of the jeep parked nearby.

"You boys stop right there," she ordered in her best ward matron's voice, the gun extended in front of her.

The man in the lead skidded to a halt, uncertain. Behind Tori, thuds and grunts of the combatants drifted out the windows. A particularly hard thud resounded from the wall near the door. The message board hanging on the Sheep Pen's exterior jumped off one of its nails and swung wildly. The man in front recovered. He gestured impatiently.

"You better hand that over, blondie, before you hurt someone. We need to get in there and help sort out this little misunderstanding." He put a booted foot on the first step.

"No, you don't. It's Black Sheep business and they'll sort it out just fine."

The man grunted and shifted his weight to take another step. Tori took quick aim and put a shot into the wood about six inches from his foot. Splinters flew. The man paled and stumbled back.

"Why don't mind you boys go on back to your camp now. I'm sure the Marines will have this little misunderstanding taken care of in no time." It wasn't a question. She had no doubt that left to their own devices, the Black Sheep would make quick work of Sloan and his men.

"Coming through!"

She heard John's voice and without turning her head, stepped against the porch rail just as Greg and John gave Sloan the bum's rush through the door. His men at the foot of the stairs didn't get out of the way in time and he crashed into them, sending them sprawling in the dirt. Sloan scrambled to his feet and turned to charge back up the steps only to come face to face with the business end of the Colt. He turned and glared at his men.

"For Crissake, don't tell me you let a girl back you down." He sneered. "I doubt she's ever had her hands on anything that big before. She wouldn't know what to do with it."

"You'd be surprised at what I've had my hands on." Tori realized she was enjoying this more than she probably should. One of Sloan's men started edging to the side of the steps as if to try flanking her. She shifted her stance slightly, aimed at a canteen hanging from a clothesline post a yard to the man's left and squeezed the trigger. The canteen disintegrated.

"I don't believe you're on the guest list," she said. "Perhaps the rest of you gentlemen would like to back away before I'm forced to shoot one of you in self-defense. Beings as I'm a helpless woman and all and feeling threatened by your violent attitude." She waved the gun to indicate the men needed to retreat. _Come on, you guys, hurry up in there,_ she thought, _I really don't want to have to shoot anyone._

The men reluctantly shifted backward. Two more Army officers staggered out the door of the Sheep Pen and Anderson and TJ drug out a third by his boots. Tori winced as they rolled him enthusiastically down the steps. Several more boys stumbled out after him and pausing long enough to scoop their fallen comrade out of the dirt, hastened away without looking backward.

Grumbling, Sloan and his men limped back toward their encampment.

Satisfied matters were settled, Tori lowered the gun and turned back into the Sheep Pen. The boys were helping one another up off the floor, grimacing as they shook out clenched hands and gingerly inspected bruised and contused skin. She noticed more than one of them was bleeding. She also noticed they looked exceptionally pleased with themselves. Dee, Laura and Ellen were offering medical attention although with a degree of skepticism. Kate was setting chairs upright. Tori flipped the safety back on and laid the Colt on a nearby table as John and Jim approached.

"Thank you, Captain," she said politely. "I'll let you know if I need to borrow it again."

"Any time, darlin'." He chuckled appreciatively. He turned to John. "Is she always this full of surprises?"

John stepped up and wrapped an arm around Tori's shoulders. He was bleeding from a cut on his cheekbone and his shirt was torn but otherwise didn't look any worse for the wear.

"You could say I honestly don't know what she's going to do next," he said. Turning to Tori, he raised his eyebrows. "Don't tell me you took lessons."

"I've been skeet shooting with Father since I was 12. There was a young ladies league at our club."

"Skeet? A shotgun is a little different than a pistol."

She shrugged.

"That's why I shot the coconuts first, to get the range."

Shaking his head, John pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead.

" _That's why I shot the coconuts first, to get the range_ ," he muttered. "I would love to meet your parents."

"Why?" Of all the things she thought he might say, that was the last thing she expected.

"Because they raised you and they have the most incredible daughter."

"You'll have to wait until after the war," she said, flustered. "I can't imagine Vella La Cava is on their travel itinerary."

"I can wait," John chuckled. "It'll be worth it."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: Of birthdays and half-birthdays**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Tori and everyone on La Cava breathed a sigh of relief when the Black Sheep returned safely from their mission to cover the 148th Airborne's drop onto New Georgia. Within 24 hours, the last of the Army ground crew lumbered down the strip in a cargo plane and life returned to whatever passed for normal on the base. Kate and Meatball moved back, the girls again went to the Sheep Pen for drinks – and other things – with their guys and Tori was happy the boys' interest had shifted from her and John to the quasi-romantic escapades of other squadron members.

Two weeks later, the war shifted its bloody focus to another part of the theatre and life on La Cava slowed to a crawl. The boys' patrols over the Slot were reduced in number and Hutch and Micklin took advantage of the lull to pull planes off the line and give them the overhauls they deserved. The Black Sheep – who were exceedingly bad at doing nothing for extended periods of time – were faced with doing exactly that.

Anderson and Boyle built a go-cart using a small gasoline engine purloined from the mechanics' shed. It proved amusing, with the boys taking turns zooming around the base, chased by Meatball, but the entertainment ended when Boyle drove it through Bragg and Casey's tent. The first problem was, the boys were asleep when he did it. The second problem was, Boyle accidentally hit the tent's main support pole, causing it to snap and sending yards of canvas billowing gracefully down over the occupants.

After rescuing Boyle from a pounding he deserved, Greg knew the unit needed to blow off steam. Women and alcohol were usually the best way to achieve this but the squadron wasn't due for R and R for another month. If they waited that long, the body count on Espritos would be off the charts. He pulled Casey and Jim aside and after a brief conference, the three of them sketched out plans for a bonfire on the beach Saturday night.

The boys jumped whole heartedly into planning the event. There was some talk of barbecuing one of the island's wild pigs but Greg put a stop to that, rightfully envisioning the degree of bloodshed those plans could entail. He was relieved to see the men direct their energy into collecting driftwood and orchestrating refreshments instead of finding reasons to beat the tar out of each other. Not that it might not still come to that but at least they'd be outdoors where the collateral damage would be minimized.

 **XXX**

Tori sat staring glumly at the calendar in the nurses' station. Saturday, Oct. 17, was approaching all too fast in spite of her attempts to ignore it. She poked at the black numbers with the end of her pencil, willing them to be nothing special. Just another day like all the others.

"Please tell me you're not counting days for any particular reason," Dee said, coming up behind her. "Didn't you and John use . . .?" Her implication was clear.

Tori jumped.

"Oh! No! Yes!" she said quickly. "We did. I'm not . . . it's nothing like that."

"Every time?" Dee pushed.

"Yes, _Mother_."

Dee cuffed her lightly on the arm, grinning.

"Just making sure. You're staring at that calendar like you're trying to make it vanish. What's up?"

"It's stupid. You'll laugh." Tori pinched the bridge of her nose. When Dee raised her eyebrows, she said, "It's just . . . Saturday."

"That's the normal order of things between Friday and Sunday, what's so special about this one?"

"It's my birthday." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she laughed wryly. "I told you it was stupid. We're in the middle of a war and I'm having a pity party because it'll be the first time in 23 years I'm not with my family on my birthday."

"Don't feel bad. Birthdays are a big deal out here," Dee said.

"Really?"

"Half the drunken bashes at the 214 are because someone is having a birthday. You know the Black Sheep – any excuse to party. A birthday means you made it another trip around the sun. Some boys out here don't get that privilege."

That put things in perspective. Tori made a dismissive gesture.

"It's not a big deal. I was just homesick for a minute."

Dee regarded her shrewdly, then turned to pour a mug of coffee.

"How does your family celebrate birthdays?"

Tori smiled, memories playing through her mind.

"The usual, I guess. Big family dinner, cake, gifts. Sometimes Mother and Livvy and I would go shopping in the city. Maybe a trip to the theater or a concert. You know, just something to make the day special." She shrugged. "None of that really matters now. I'd just like to see my parents and Liv and Patrick and my little nieces. Guess that isn't going to happen. Seriously, forget I said anything."

"Uh-huh," Dee said with studied casualness. "Here. Let me top off your coffee."

 **XXX**

Casey plucked two bottles of beer from the refrigeration unit in the Sheep Pen and popped the caps. He set one in front of Hutch, who looked up from the copy of _The Philadelphia Enquirer_ Don French's parents had sent. They owned the _Enquirer_ and several other large metro papers on the east coast.

"What's this?"

"Drink up, you need to be fortified," Casey said. "You've got a mission."

"What are you talking about?" Hutch lifted the bottle and drank. It was nice when one of the boys bought a round but he could already tell this one was going to come with a price tag. "I already have a mission – keeping you meatheads in the air."

"This goes beyond that," Casey said, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "Dee told me Tori's birthday is Saturday, same as the bonfire. I guess she's taking it kind of hard – first one away from her family. You know how girls are."

Hutch thought that over. Tori didn't strike him as terribly sentimental although he saw the wistful look on her face when she talked about her parents or her sister and her nieces. Everyone out here missed their loved ones back home and it was always worse when birthdays and holidays were nothing more than a reminder of things that were out of reach. He hadn't celebrated his birthday or Christmas or anything else with anyone but a bunch of Marines for the last two years. There'd usually been so much alcohol involved he couldn't remember what they'd done.

"Are you sure? She hasn't said anything to me about it."

Casey nodded.

"She hasn't said anything to anyone about it. Dee found out by accident. She says Tori's kind of homesick but she won't tell anyone because she doesn't want to make a big deal of it."

"So what's it got to do with you?" Hutch eyed him with growing suspicion.

"Absolutely nothing but it's got everything to do with you. Here's your chance to make a big impression."

Jim dropped into a chair on his other side.

"I'd guess he's already made a big impression," he chuckled. "Right, Hutchinson?"

"Shut up, Gutterman."

Jim ignored him and persisted.

"So whattaya gonna give her? Should be something special, beings as it's her first birthday since you two have been . . . you know . . ." His friendly leer indicated exactly what he thought they'd been doing.

"Give me a break! "Hutch muttered. "I just found out about it!" His head was starting to spin.

"Does she need any stockings?" Casey queried. "We got two dozen pair in that last deal with the 136 at Russell."

The other boys gathered around, quick to offer suggestions.

"Give her lingerie. That way you both get to enjoy it."

"Don't be an idiot, Boyle, where's a guy supposed to buy lingerie out here?" Anderson asked. "It's not like there's a department store on the corner."

"Maybe a gun? She seems handy enough with one."

Jim's comment brought a round of laughter and the suggestions continued thick and fast. Perfume. A book. Jewelry. A dress. Those were all fine and good, Hutch thought, dismissing them out of hand. Like Anderson pointed out, it wasn't like he could pick out something at the local department store and have it gift-wrapped. Her birthday was in three days. There wasn't even time to write to his sisters in the States and ask them to go shopping for him. On top of that, he didn't exactly have access to unlimited income, either. What in the hell did you give a girl who was used to having the best of everything?

Jim laughed.

"There's one present that never fails."

Hutch braced himself. He was surprised it had taken them this long.

"Aw, hell, Jim, he's been givin' her that for the last month," TJ cut in.

"Aw, hell, TJ," Jim replied in a sarcastic tone, "she seems to like it. Every time I see that girl, she's got a smile on her face."

Hutch rolled his eyes. The truth was, he and Tori hadn't made love since the night she'd stayed with him after the storm. Between his workload on the line and her duty schedule at the hospital, they saw each other but that was about it. Even with the Black Sheep on temporary stand down, his days – and nights – continued to be a non-stop scramble to complete overdue repairs. Downtime was never taken for granted out here. The war could come blasting back at full throttle without warning and when it did, Greg would expect the squadron's planes to roll off the line in a New York minute.

He and Tori stole time where they could. They walked on the beach in the evening or he saw her when she came to the base for medical follow-ups. She dropped in for drinks in the Sheep Pen with the other nurses and occasionally stayed for meals at the mess, but private time together was non-existent.

"I don't think getting her a present is all that important but you gotta do something to make the day special – like you're really thinking about her," Casey said seriously. "Girls set a lot of store by that kind of thing."

Hutch considered the advice. Casey and Dee had the longest on-going relationship of anyone on the base, even surpassing Greg and Kate. Casey might know what he was talking about.

Greg had been listening quietly to the conversation. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head.

"You two ever go up to the north lagoon?"

"No." Hutch shook his head, then added sheepishly, "Never had time and when we did, never wanted to interrupt you and Katie. That's kinda your spot, isn't it?"

Greg laughed.

"Tell you what, this Saturday night, it's all yours. Kate says it's the most romantic place on the island. You know what girls are like when you take them some place romantic." He grinned.

Hutch had been there a couple of times but only during the day as part of a co-ed group enjoying an afternoon of surf and sand. The lagoon was a semi-enclosed private beach, a crescent of pristine white sand edged by palm trees and embraced by steep stone walls. The water was crystalline with shades progressing from the palest turquoise to deep teal to indigo. Protected from the prevailing winds, it was the closest thing to paradise you could find in the middle of a war. He couldn't imagine the visual impact at sunset, with the sky ablaze with color and the molten sun sinking into the Pacific. A plan started to form in his mind. Just being alone together after so many nights surrounded by the boisterous crowd in the Sheep Pen would be a gift for both of them.

He returned the grin.

"I'll take you up on that."

Jim and Casey immediately jumped in with suggestions of things he'd need. These ranged from wine, bread and chocolate to more practical items like blankets, firewood, matches and condoms.

Hutch threw his hands up.

"I _have_ taken a girl to the beach before," he said, exasperated.

"Yeah, but you've never taken _that_ girl to _that_ beach," Casey pointed out. " _And_ on her birthday. The pressure's on!"

"You can thank me later. Just get your work done before you go." Greg's smile was lazy. "I don't think you're gonna be worth a crap when you get back the next morning." He paused. "That's the voice of experience."

Amidst the boys' appreciative laughter, Hutch suddenly remembering something. He looked at Casey.

"There's something I need and I bet you could get it for me . . .," he said.

 **XXX**

"Present for you!" Dee called cheerfully. "All the way from Michigan."

"How do you know it's a present?" Tori dropped her towel and pulled a clean T-shirt over her head as Dee stepped into the room. Funny, she thought, how making love in a tent on a fighter base had a way of making modesty a non-issue, although dressing and undressing in front of other girls was nothing like taking her clothes off in front of John.

Not that there had been any further development in that regard. Stolen kisses and a little making out in a jeep in the back row of an outdoor movie was about as much as they'd enjoyed lately. Their night together glowed in her memory but to date there'd been no encore.

"Of course it's a present, your birthday's tomorrow, right? Maybe your mother has started sending you cookies?"

"Um, no." Tori rolled her eyes at the idea as she finished dressing. Portia Bishop was a lot of things but the cookie-sending type was not one of them.

"It's from your sister in Lansing," Dee said, studying the return label. "Open it! Maybe _she_ sent you cookies."

Care packages from home were as popular among the nurses as they were among the pilots, with edible contents shared around, no matter how battered they might have become on their trans-Pacific journey.

Tori took the package away from Dee.

"You're nosy." She rummaged in her desk for a pair of scissors and attacked the wrapping paper and twine. Inside, a second, smaller box had the name of a fashionable Detroit boutique stamped on the lid. Tori opened it and found a note card lying atop tissue paper folded over the contents.

She recognized her sister's flawless penmanship.

 _Dearest Victory,_ Tori paused, grinning at Livvy's pet name for her, _I hope this gift reaches you in time for your birthday. I think I sent it early enough but I know the mail is so unpredictable._

"See! It is a present!" Dee was reading over her shoulder.

Tori scowled at her.

"Kate was right - you are the nosiest person on this island! You're worse than any of the Black Sheep!"

Dee shrugged and grinned unrepentantly. Tori read on.

" _I can tell by your letters there is a special man in your life. I am so very happy for you. John sounds wonderful and if he chose you, it shows his excellent taste. I haven't said anything about him to Mother and Father, as I was unsure what you may have told them. In any event, I thought you might enjoy something nice to wear if you choose to celebrate your birthday the way Patrick and I often celebrate ours."_

Tori frowned. The box was too small to contain anything except . . . She pushed the tissue back to reveal a bra and panty set in black, lace-trimmed silk. She sputtered and looked again at Livvy's letter.

" _Oh come on, little sis, how do you think we got three children?"_

"Oooooh, nice," Dee said approvingly. "Black lace is classic. Men love it."

Tori lifted the garments out, a little embarrassed but delighted by the exquisitely cut, feather-light silk, then sputtered again when she saw the box of condoms carefully nestled in the tissue underneath. She hastily referred to the note.

" _I also assume you do not want to have children any time in the immediate future. Love you, Victory, happy birthday and be safe out there. Please give my regards to John. I would love to meet him and perhaps some day I will. XOX Liv_

Down the hall, Laura burst into a soulful rendition of "As Time Goes By." Her quiet alto was well suited to the lyrics.

" _It's still the same old story, a fight for love and glory . . ."_

"Crap. Delmonte's coming to make sure we get our beauty sleep." Tori dropped the lid back on the box and tucked it into her dresser drawer.

"You'll need those tomorrow night. Trust me." Dee said. She ducked out, then back in and pointed at the box. "All of it." She grinned broadly and disappeared.

" _. . . the world will always welcome lovers, as time goes by . . ."_

 **XXX**

 **Saturday, Oct. 17**

With an evening of revelry in the making, the base hummed with anticipation. The bonfire was built and coolers full of iced beer and soft drinks had been hauled to the site. Invitations had been extended to all the female personnel at the hospital and the male orderlies as well, along with all the mechanics and ground crew on the base. Hutch had driven to the hospital a few days earlier to personally invite Tori. He'd been gratified to see her brighten when he asked her. She didn't mention her birthday and he didn't either.

That evening, he showered, exchanging insults with TJ in the adjoining stall and Greg and Jim, who were waiting.

"When are you going to pick up Tori?" Jim called out.

"She's meeting me at the bonfire with some of the other girls." Hutch pulled the chain and sun-warmed water sluiced over him, rinsing soap through the boards underfoot and into a drain field.

"Got big plans for the birthday girl?"

Hutch grabbed his towel from where it hung over the door.

"Yeah." His voice was muffled. "And they're none of your business."

"Let me know if you need any advice."

"Hell, Jim, I'm not so far gone I need to ask advice from you. Isn't Sarah here? You're gonna have your own hands full."

"That's the plan." Jim sounded pleased. "She got a 24-hour pass and we're gonna make the most of it."

Hutch went back to his tent to finish getting ready. While he had a definite idea of how he hoped the night would end, he wanted everything that led up to it to be special.

That sounded insanely stupid, even to him. What did he know about romance? Greg was good at that sort of thing. The whole base had watched him seduce Kate, one deliberate step at a time - the right words, the invitation of a smile, a teasing comment that pulled her into his world, a touch that promised more.

Hutch knew his relationship with Tori hadn't been nearly that smoothly crafted. He thought he'd played his hand pretty well with the trip to the waterfall and the fire on the beach the night of Anderson's party, but since then, any time together seemed to be more the product of whims of fate than any deliberate action on his part. It was time that changed.

Tonight, he wanted her to know he'd taken the time to plan something with her in mind, not just took her to the beach in hopes he'd get lucky. He couldn't compete with the family celebrations she was used to and he wasn't about to try but he wanted to give her a memorable evening nonetheless. It was a daunting prospect. Jeez. Maybe he _should_ have asked Jim for advice.

All he knew was he loved the girl and just saying the words was about as romantic as he got. In the three months he'd known her, he'd discovered Tori Bishop was efficient, practical and excellent at problem-solving during a crisis. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind and didn't seem the type who got misty-eyed about having all the proper trappings for every possible contingency. For all that she'd been raised with lavish attention to creature comforts and social graces, she seemed happy enough to ignore them now. If anything, she was as sensibly down-to-earth as he was. It made him want to give her silk sheets scattered with rose petals and every other impossible luxury his mind could conjure.

The night they shared had been incredible. He wouldn't have traded it for the world and got the feeling she wouldn't either, but he liked the idea of them ending up in bed – so to speak – as the result of something resembling deliberate seduction, not a chance of fate that made it impossible for her to leave the base. To date, a washed out road was the only thing that had lead to them sleeping together. Like _that_ had romance written all over it.

While neither of them had complained, he wanted to give her more than a blanket on the floor of a tent. Not that a blanket on the beach was exactly an upgrade to a five-star hotel but if his plan for the evening came together, it would be the Vella La Cava version and that was just going to have to do.

He was surprised to see a bottle of wine sitting on his work table when he stepped through the tent flaps. It was the Aussie cabernet that was such a hot commodity on the black market right now. He picked up the piece of paper tucked underneath.

" _Make a special night even better. Sarah loves this stuff too. Must be a girl thing. Jim"_

Hutch chuckled. Tori drank Scotch now with almost as much proficiency as the rest of the island's inhabitants. He'd planned to snag a bottle out of the Sheep Pen so they could toast her birthday but this was even better. He was trying to figure out where to come up with wine glasses when Casey stuck his head in the tent.

"Here you go." He held out a palm-sized wooden crate lined with straw. "They just came on the transport – fresh from the officers' mess on Espritos."

Hutch took the crate and lifted the lid.

"Perfect. Thanks, Casey, what do I owe you?"

"Nothing," the tow-headed pilot said. "Just keep my bird in the air and we'll call it even." He ducked out and disappeared.

Hutch set the box next to the wine, a couple of blankets and other necessities for the evening. God bless Casey for coming through with his request. It might not be from Cartier or Tiffany but he thought she'd like it. Hell, it might even manage to be romantic. Maybe Casey was right and a gift didn't really matter but he wanted this night to be an expression of how much he loved her and wanted her in his life.

Staring at the assembled items, he realized he wanted Tori not just tonight but forever. The impact slammed into him like a battering ram. Damn. He ran a hand through his hair and firmly put it out of his mind. There was only so much romance a guy could handle at a time.

 **XXX**

Tori met Kate's sister, Sarah, when the two girls showed up at the nurses' quarters to shower and change for the party. Sarah was tall, her red hair streaked copper blonde by the tropical sun. She was an Army dog handler stationed on Rendova and shared Kate's quiet self-confidence and no-nonsense approach to life, overlaid with an irreverent sense of humor. Tori thought if there was ever a girl who could keep Jim Gutterman in line, she was it.

"So you're the girl who turned Hutch's world upside down," Sarah said when Kate introduced them. Her smile was open and friendly.

"What have you told her?" Tori said, looking at Kate.

"I didn't get a chance to tell her anything," Kate said. "Someone else beat me to it."

"Jim told me about the storm and you spending the night on the base. Wow, you two were bold, in his tent!"

Tori blushed.

"Jim talks too much."

"He was impressed. We haven't even . . . in his tent, I mean. He shares it with TJ so that makes it tough, but still, the two of you must have really hit it off."

Tori smiled, reflecting.

"He's been good for me."

"They're awfully cute together," Kate teased. She studied Tori. "This is your first Black Sheep bonfire, right? All ready for tonight?"

"Why?" Tori narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Is there something I should know?"

"Um, no," Kate said innocently. "Never mind. They're always a good time. You'll have fun." She turned to the shower.

"What - ?" Tori started, only to be cut off.

"I have no idea what she's talking about," Dee said hastily. "Shouldn't you be getting ready? We need to leave soon."

 **XXX**

It was early evening when Tori piled into a jeep with the other girls and headed for the beach. In deference to the informal atmosphere, she'd dressed in shorts and a dark blue sleeveless blouse that matched her eyes. After much debate, she'd taken Dee's advice and worn the black lace lingerie Livvy sent. In spite of the girls' teasing, she had zero expectations for the evening beyond high spirited carousing around a bonfire but the black lace was pretty and she liked the way it made her feel. She thought she deserved that much on her birthday.

So far, the day had been less than remarkable. She was just turning another year older. It wasn't a big deal any more, not like when she was a little girl, with the cake and presents amidst a joyful family celebration.

She'd also taken Dee's advice and tucked several condoms in her pocket. She didn't think it would come to that but better safe than sorry in nine months. If the opportunity presented itself, she knew she wouldn't be able to say no to John. Their night together seemed like eons ago and she was hungry for the delicious sense of completion his body brought to hers. It felt like they held the world when they took each other. Dee had been right about loving being a way to escape the war.

The girls were greeted with shouts of welcome as Dee nosed the jeep onto the trail head to the beach. John met her as they stopped a safe distance from the roaring pyre. In fact, everyone was a safe distance from the inferno. It would have to burn for a while before anyone could even think of sitting around it. He handed her down from the jeep and Tori drank in his windblown hair and the shine in his dark eyes. He was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt, unbuttoned to reveal the lean planes of his chest and belly, and faded but clean fatigues. She brushed her hand across his cheek.

"Razor's still broken, I see."

He bent to kiss her neck, deliberately scraping stubble against her throat. Tori closed her eyes and inhaled – soap over sun-warmed skin. Nothing else. No aftershave or hair dressing or fancy cologne. Just him. She gripped his shoulders and firmly pushed him back. Scent and touch were going to start things that couldn't be finished here.

"Nice shirt," she said. "Don't the buttons work?"

"It'll come off faster this way, sweetheart," he said and let his index finger trace from the hollow of her throat to the top button on her blouse.

"John! Behave yourself," she said, glancing around. No one was watching them as clusters of base personnel gathered to share the evening's respite from the war.

He laughed, pulling her into his arms.

"You wouldn't know what to do if I behaved myself."

He was right, she thought. His rough good looks never failed to make her heart beat a little faster. She couldn't imagine him clean shaven and wearing conventional clothing. She didn't want to. She loved him exactly for who he was – an aviation mechanic from Flint, Mich., and the anchor in her life.

"Hey you two! Jeez, Hutch, can you keep your hands off her long enough for a volleyball game?" TJ called, tossing a ball at them. "The night's still young, you can't start celebrating now or – "

"Let's go." John caught the ball and headed toward the net strung between two palm trees.

"Celebrating what?" Tori asked, kicking off her shoes and forming up with Sarah and Jim against Laura, TJ, Dee and Casey.

"Nothing," he replied. "You know the Black Sheep, they're always celebrating something. Here." He tossed her the ball. "You serve."

 **XXX**

Volleyball gave way to wading in the surf and by then the bonfire had burned down to a non-incendiary level. Tori and John sprawled on blankets near the fire, trading stories with other couples.

"So her damned crazy dog has me pinned against the tree, barking like he's gonna rip me to pieces and she says, 'Don't run.' _Don't run?_ Where the hell did she think I was gonna go?" Jim wrapped an arm around Sarah's shoulders. "Anyway, that was when I decided I kind of liked her. A little."

Tori laughed appreciatively.

"What about you two?" she asked, turning to Kate and Greg. "When did you realize you were uh, interested, in each other?"

Greg chuckled.

"About 30 seconds after I watched those legs step off the transport."

Kate rolled her eyes.

"And a minute later you found out I was with the press corps and you couldn't wait to get rid of me," she said drily. "I was in denial until the night of French's fifth kill party."

"Oh come on, Cameron, you loved me from the first day."

"I thought you had a nice ass from the first day," Kate said. "There's a big difference. I might have shot you the next morning if I could have gotten my hands on a gun."

"She got over it," Greg said. The group broke up, laughing, and not for the first time, Tori marveled at the way fate had brought them all together, these people from so many different walks of life that she never would have met if she hadn't gone to that anniversary reception. She would never have anything good to say about that ill-fated night but without it, she never would have come here, never would have met John and felt her life change.

The sun was painting the sky with a mad palette of purple and mauve when John rose and pulled her to her feet.

"Come with me, Tor." His mouth curved with the hint of a smile.

"Go with you where?" she asked. Around them, nurses, pilots and base personnel were clustered in small groups, drinking and socializing. She didn't see anywhere else to go.

"To watch the sunset."

She started to point out they had an unobstructed view where they were, then saw the look in his eyes.

"Where - ?"

He raised an admonitory finger.

"What - ?" She tried again.

"Stop. Asking. Questions." His tone was firm but the smile in his eyes was unmistakable.

Tori was aware of some not-so-discreet hooting and hollering as he led her to a jeep and they pulled away. She decided it was in her best interest to ignore it. Glancing sideways, she saw John fighting a smile. They accelerated away from the bonfire and soon the sound of the revelers faded behind them.

He slowed, easing the jeep onto a thin strip of land hugging the base of sheer cliffs. Tori caught her breath as they rounded the edge of the cliff and onto the white sand beach of a crescent shaped lagoon. Over the ocean, the sky was a reckless tapestry of lavender, rose and orange as the sun began to sink.

John stopped the jeep near a neatly arranged stack of driftwood above the tide line.

"Wait here," he said, swinging out and gathering an armload of things from the back. She sat, watching with open curiosity as he spread blankets on the sand and laid out a bottle of wine, two porcelain coffee mugs and a small wooden box. He knelt and struck a match at the base of the stacked driftwood. Dried sea grass inside ignited and flames licked upward to catch the wood ablaze. He came back to the jeep and led her to the blanket. She kicked off her shoes and sank down.

"This place is beautiful," she breathed, rocking back on her elbows. "Kate's told me about it." She caught herself and blushed. "Well, not so much about the place as much as about being here with Greg."

John arched an eyebrow as he worked the corkscrew into the wine.

"Is this going to be another one of those things I don't want to hear?" he said, easing the cork from the bottle.

"Uh-huh." She grinned wickedly. "Girl talk. Not for guys' ears."

He poured the wine and handed her a cup. She took it, holding the chipped porcelain as if it were the most delicate stemware. She started to raise the cup but the look on his face made her pause. He cradled her heart in that dark gaze.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."

She gasped.

"How did -?"

He leaned forward and kissed her.

"Do you really think there are any secrets on this island?"

She certainly hoped there were some but wasn't holding her breath.

"Dee told you, didn't she?"

"No. Casey told me." He kissed her again and tipped his mug against hers. "I'm glad we can celebrate it together."

Overwhelmed, she buried her face in the wine.

"Oh my God, John, this is that fantastic Aussie red I like so much. Where - ?"

"Jim."

"He knew it was my birthday, too?"

"Yeah. Pretty much everyone on the base knows."

Tori sipped again and looked around.

"Um, won't we be in the way if Greg and Kate come up here later? I mean, this is where they always go . . . when they . . ." She broke off, embarrassed.

"Nope. It's ours tonight."

"And you know this because . . . ?"

"Greg suggested it. I guess they'll find somewhere else. And the other boys won't interrupt us. It's a matter of honor."

She narrowed her eyes, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face.

"Honor? I don't even want to know what you told them."

"I didn't tell them anything. Their imaginations are already in overdrive." He paused. "Greg knew it was your birthday and figured we might . . . uh . . . enjoy this place."

Tori wasn't sure how she felt about the Black Sheep giving so much thought to how she and John might celebrate her birthday but she dismissed it. Modesty and self-consciousness were becoming rapidly dwindling commodities as far as she was concerned.

John leaned over and picked up the small wooden box she'd noticed earlier. He handed it to her, his expression serious.

"I know this isn't like your birthday celebrations with your family but, well, here. These are for you."

Tori set her wine down and pried the lid off the box. She gasped. There were only six of them but they were perfect, large and ruby red, crowned by dark green leaves and dimpled with tiny seeds.

"Strawberries!" Her eyes went wide. "Where . . . how . . .? Oh!" She pulled one out and using the stem as a handle, bit into it delicately. She savored it, letting her taste buds erupt with joy as the fruit flooded her mouth. Eyes closed in ecstasy, she finished it in small, quick bites and ran her tongue over her lips.

"These are incredible! Seriously – how? They must have cost a fortune!"

"Casey found them. That guy can find anything." John looked pleased. "Now I just have to make sure his plane stays in the air for the rest of the war."

Laughing, Tori held the box out to him. "Have one. But that's all. You have no idea how selfish I can be."

"You eat them, they're yours."

She plucked one out, pulled the stem back and held it to his lips. He ate it in one bite, then licked her fingers. They finished the rest of the berries in similar fashion, feeding one another, fingers sticky with juice, the ripe, sweet scent hanging on the air.

"Thank you," she whispered when the last one disappeared.

"You're welcome." He tangled his fingers in her hair and rolled her onto her back. His mouth took hers gently at first, then rougher, the taste of the berries still sweet between them. She slid her hands across the smooth, hot muscle of his back and felt her senses begin the slow descent to that place where nothing else existed. It was just the two of them alone with the dancing flames and indigo sky. She lay back, admiring the dark planes of his face as he opened the top button of her shirt. He paused.

"You're all right with this? Out here, I mean?"

The thought of making love with him outdoors was more intoxicating than the wine. She touched his face.

"Yes."

He made quick work of the remaining buttons and his breath caught as he pushed the fabric out of the way.

"Damn." He didn't need to say any more. The honest appreciation on his face said it all.

"Would you believe it was a birthday gift from Livvy?"

"I'd believe anything you told me right now," he whispered.

He cupped her breasts in his hands, sending a dizzying rush through her. She could feel the heat and pressure of each finger through the silk before he unhooked her bra and gently pulled it off. She thought she'd feel vulnerable, exposed, here under the vault of the night sky but it was exhilarating in a way she hadn't anticipated. John kissed her throat, her breasts, her belly and she ignited at his touch. He admired the slip of black lace that was her panties before sliding them down her legs to join the rest of their clothing in a pile.

Their loving was unhurried, languid with the knowledge no one was going to interrupt them. John's hands and mouth explored her body with mesmerizing slowness and Tori abandoned herself to him. There was no hesitancy this time, no worry about anyone hearing. She didn't try to hold back her moans as his fingers teased between her legs, their exquisite pressure lifting her on a rising tide of sensation. He held her on the edge of release for an endless moment, then took her over it, his mouth brushing her throat as she cried out, trembling against his hand.

Desire built again almost immediately as she felt his need pressed against her. She stroked worked his length, reveling in the sound of his breathing and the increasing tension of his body, until he pulled away.

She reached for her shorts and he reached for his pants at the same time.

"Do you need . . .?" she started.

"You brought . . . where did you . . .?" He gave up. "You're amazing."

She just smiled as she rolled the condom onto him slowly, savoring the feel of him against her fingers. He lowered himself over her, pressing her down onto the blanket and she realized with a fierce burst of joy, she felt no residual panic at being pinned down. Her body rose against his, welcoming him as he filled her. She writhed, felt him drive deeper, harder, until her aching need for him blurred with the feeling of unarguable rightness that bound them together.

Mutual need, too long denied, consumed them both. When she came, her nails in his back and his name on her lips, she felt his body answer hers. A final hard thrust drove him past the limit of control and he pinned her against the blanket, her hips bucking under him as he shuddered with release.

They lay, motionless in the warm darkness. She was sure she glowed with the heat of their loving, could feel light rising off her skin to surround them both in shimmering waves. John eased off her, sprawling to one side. He ran a finger between her breasts down to her navel. She felt the breeze, cool against the sweat on her skin. She sighed and let herself go limp.

"I've never had a birthday like this," she said softly. "I don't want it to end."

"It hasn't, yet." He stood. "Come with me."

Her eyes shot open wide.

"Like this!"

"Tor." His voice was ripe with humor. "It's not like anyone is going to see you."

Okay. He had a point.

She took his hand and let him pull her up, surprised at how unself-conscious she felt, as if walking nude with him along the beach were the most natural thing in the world. He laced his fingers through hers and led her into the water. Above them, the full moon cast the beach in silver and indigo.

The water lapping at her ankles wasn't cold but she hesitated for a fraction of a second. That was all it took. John scooped her up and before she could protest, he took several long strides and launched both of them into the waves.

"I knew you'd go skinny dipping with me," he said when they re-surfaced. "It was just a matter of time until you came to your senses."

They splashed, frolicking with the joyful abandon of two people who had nothing but one another on their minds. Tori forgot she'd ever been homesick.

"I'm turning into a prune," she said finally, inspecting her fingers. She led him back to the blanket and poured more wine into their glasses. Stretching out on her stomach she said, "Kate never told me how incredible it is out here. I mean, she told me she and Greg came out here to swim but I had no idea . . ."

"Swim, huh? Is that what they're calling it now?"

She punched his shoulder lightly.

"You know what I mean."

"What else has she told you about coming out here?"

Tori shook her head.

"Nothing, really. She doesn't talk about what she and Greg . . . well . . . you know."

"Greg doesn't either, at least not that I've ever heard him." John mused.

"I think the closer the couple are, the less they want to put it on parade, you know?" She looked at him, a little shy in spite of their previous intimacy. "With them – and us – it's real, it's not a conquest. It isn't anybody's business."

He leaned over and kissed her. They lay in silence for a few minutes.

"I have to ask, where did you come up with condoms? Or is that a nurse thing?"

She laughed.

"You won't believe it."

"Try me."

"Olivia sent them."

"Your sister? I really have to meet her."

"Are you serious?" Tori asked.

"Hell yeah. I want to meet the woman who sent her little sister lingerie and rubbers for her birthday."

"You'd end up meeting my whole family. They come as a set." She hesitated. "They can be kind of . . . a lot. Especially Mother and Father."

"Tori, I survived boot camp. I've kept the peace between Micklin and Boyington for six months without getting my head knocked off. I've been shot at and nearly killed. Your parents don't scare me."

"They can't be that bad," he continued. "They put their pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else."

"Father's more easy going. But Mother can be a pill. She means well, she just doesn't understand how other people live without servants. She's never had to."

Tori tugged one of the blankets up over their midsections and poured more wine.

"To birthdays," she said. "And celebrating them in . . ." She looked up at the heavens, then back at him. " . . . new and creative ways."

He tapped his mug against hers.

"When's yours?" she asked, enjoying the richness of the wine as it trickled down her throat.

"My what?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Your birthday!"

"April 17."

She counted the months quickly in her head.

"So today's your half-birthday," she said, delighted.

"My what?" he said again.

"Your half-birthday. Half a year since your last one, half a year until your next."

"Don't tell me you celebrate those, too?"

She rolled up onto an elbow and laid a palm on his chest.

"Since your half-birthday is the same day as my birthday, I think we should." She studied his face in the glow of the fire. "I think," she said, choosing her words slowly, "since you went to all the work to give me this –" she waved a hand at the fire, the lagoon, the wine, the empty strawberry crate, " - I should give you something for your half-birthday."

He looked around.

"Your resources are kind of limited."

"So were yours. And look what you managed," she whispered. "This was wonderful, John. It's been my best birthday ever and it was all your idea." She lowered her eyes, raking them the length of his body. "But this night isn't over yet."

His grin indicated he was considering the options.

"What have you got in mind?"

She didn't speak. Her heart pounded as she pushed the blanket aside and brushed her lips across his. He cupped the back of her head as the kiss deepened, tongues brushing. She slowly pulled away from his mouth but didn't take her lips off him, grazing her teeth along his neck and collarbone.

John's hands were light on her back, the callouses on his palms creating delicious friction. She moved lower, alternating kisses with small nips, catching his skin between her teeth, gentle but deliberate, until her mouth brushed across his belly. His muscles tensed as she slid lower, letting her tongue trace the line of dark hair that led downward from his belly button.

"Don't talk to me about limited resources," she whispered.

"You don't have to - " he started. She reached up with one hand and flattened her palm against his chest, pushing him back down. He didn't argue.

"Don't make me pull rank on you."

She kissed the inside of his thigh and he shifted, giving her access to his body in unspoken cooperation. She could smell his warm musk and feel the fine tremors running through his skin under her lips. His response drove her own arousal and she felt unexpected desire building between her thighs. She'd done this before but her ex-fiancé had always been a rather passive recipient, showing little appreciation beyond the end result. John had no such reservations. He tangled a hand loosely in her hair, fingers gentle, guiding, acknowledging her intent but not demanding.

"Take it slow, sweetheart, we've got all night," he said, voice lazy with pleasure.

Tori realized with sudden clarity how much she trusted him and how much that trust empowered her. She felt the strength of his body radiate against hers, felt her own body answer it, desire making her bold. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his erection and lowered her mouth. He felt like hot, hard silk under her lips and tasted faintly of salt. Her tongue slid along his shaft, savoring his taste and scent, feeling him stiffen more in response. She played him with slow sensuality, then took him fully in her mouth.

"God, Tori."

It was the last thing either of them said for quite some time.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: A visitor arrives**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

"Damn, that's perfect."

A look of satisfaction settled over Casey's face as he checked the shipping manifest against the list on his clipboard. He set the clipboard atop the stack of crates he, Hutch and Greg were almost finished loading into the jeep. "The 149 on Rendova came through with the Scotch and silk stockings the boys on New Caledonia want. Now all we have to do is wait for them to deliver the rum and toilet paper, then we can add our spare generator and swap it out with the Army on Munda for oil and new carburetors."

"The sooner, the better," Hutch said. "We're really low on oil." Glass bottles tinkled as he shifted the last case of Scotch into the jeep. He wiped sweat off his forehead and reached up to take the final crate of parts out of the cargo plane's hold. Finally, grease, piston rings and – praise Jesus - new points and plugs. The Black Sheep would stay in the air a little while longer. He leaned against the jeep to catch his breath.

"How'd it go with Tori last night?" Greg asked.

Hutch grinned but didn't say anything.

"That good, huh?"

 _Good?_ Good didn't even come close.

"Thanks for letting us borrow your spot," was the best he could manage.

"Got her birthday celebrated right and proper?" Casey teased.

"Her birthday and my half-birthday. Hell, I didn't even know there was such a thing. I do now," Hutch said reverently.

Greg laughed.

"Half-birthday? How do you celebrate that?"

Hutch scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt and adjusted his cap. He wasn't about to replay the previous night for anyone's entertainment and the other two men knew it. It wouldn't keep them from asking, though.

"Let's just say I wouldn't want to look her old man in the face this morning."

Casey whooped appreciatively. Greg clapped him on the back and left to make arrangements for the swap with Munda.

The drone of an incoming aircraft drew the men's attention skyward. An L-5 dropped onto the strip, skirting the parked C-47. The plane came to a stop but the pilot didn't kill the engine. A passenger climbed out, brandishing a battered leather briefcase like a shield in front of him. He pulled off a mae west, tossed it back into the plane, then circled a safe distance from the spinning blades of the prop. The pilot spun the little plane around to line up behind the transport as it prepared to taxi out.

"Who do you suppose that is?" Hutch nodded at the man.

"Dunno. Maybe it's that paper-pusher from the States, the one Lard said was coming to talk to you and Micklin," Casey mused. "I don't think we're expecting anyone else."

"He doesn't look like a paper-pusher. Those guys always come out here dressed like they're going on safari."

Hutch judged the man to be in his 50s. He was tall, with a spare build and patrician features. His clothes marked him as a civilian, although not to the overdressed extreme Hutch often saw with the politicians who came to inspect conditions among the troops or some other kind of crap. The man's khaki trousers looked practical and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loosened in deference to the heat and a well-worn Fedora sat atop hair streaked with gray. There was something oddly familiar about him but Hutch couldn't place it. Casey got in the jeep and turned the key.

"You coming to help me unload this stuff? Guess it's going in Kate's tent for the time being."

"Get one of the boys to help you, I'm gonna see what this guy wants." He looked back at the airstrip, where the L-5 had just lifted off. "Hope they're coming back to get him. I hate it when we have to babysit Statesiders."

Casey rolled away in a cloud of dust and Hutch strolled across the dirt. His mind was only half on the stranger, the other half still occupied with Tori's wet curves as they frolicked in the surf and the heat of her mouth on his skin. He could still taste the salt-musk tang of her under his tongue and feel her writhing against him. Good? Yeah. It had been good all right. He'd never shared such an incredible night with a girl.

If her reaction was any indication, he _had_ achieved the level of romance he'd been aiming for. She'd received his simple birthday gift with absolute delight and reciprocated in a way he'd never expected. Waking with her in his arms this morning solidified the realization he wanted to share birthdays and every other day with her once this damn war was over. He shook himself back to the present. The man stood quietly, taking in the scenery as the L-5 soared into the sky and disappeared.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The man turned and pulled off a pair of aviator sunglasses. He continued to look around the base, taking in the Corsairs, the tents and the general state of disorder. He studied Hutch, his gaze measuring but not offensive.

"I'm looking for Master Sergeant Micklin, Sergeant Hutchinson and Major Boyington," he said, eyes again flicking around the base as if to confirm he was in the right place. He stuck out his hand. "I'm here to talk about performance and maintenance issues with the Liberators. I manage the Willow Creek plant in Ypsilanti, Mich." He laughed with frank humor. "It's become a branch of Ford Motors. Ford Aeronautics might be more accurate." He shifted the briefcase and held out his right hand. "I'm Edward Bishop."

The air slammed out of Hutch's lungs.

Holy. Shit.

He'd told Tori last night he'd like to meet her parents but this was not what he had in mind.

He had no idea if she had told them anything about him. In all fairness, he hadn't told his parents much about her, either. He was sure his mother had read between the lines and knew she was more than just the nurse who took care of him after he was injured but beyond that, he'd been light on details. Mostly because he didn't know what to tell them. What could you say about a girl who looked like an angel and did things with her hands and mouth that would make the devil beg for mercy? It wasn't the sort of thing you put in a letter home to your folks.

He forced a casual smile and took the proffered hand. Bishop's grip was firm.

"Good to know you, sir. I'm Sergeant John Hutchinson," he said, hoping the emotion pounding through him didn't show on his face. "Sergeant Micklin's over on the line and Major Boyington's probably in the Sheep Pen."

"The Sheep Pen?" Bishop said slowly, doubt edging his features. Now that he knew who the man was, Hutch was struck by how much Tori resembled her father, not so much in looks but the way she carried herself, the tilt of her head, the quiet intensity when she listened to him talking.

"It's the officers' club," Hutch amended, jerking his thoughts away from Edward Bishop's daughter and back to the matter of Edward Bishop himself. "It's probably the best spot on the base to meet. Greg – Major Boyington - usually holds briefings and other meetings in the ops shack but I don't think it's been cleaned up since the fire."

"The fire?" Bishop's eyebrows went up another notch.

"It was an accident. More or less." Hutch brushed it off. The minor conflagration had been the result of an ill-timed cigarette left burning near a stack of papers when Anderson had become more focused on Ellen than the paperwork he was supposed to be helping Casey file. "Come with me, sir. You can wait there and have a drink while I find Micklin. We've been expecting you." Only I sure as hell wasn't expecting _you_ , he thought.

"That would be fine. A drink sounds good." Bishop squared his shoulders. "After we get our business out of the way, maybe one of you gentlemen could give me a lift to the hospital? My daughter is posted there and I hope to spend a little time with her before they send the plane back from Espritos for me. Her name is Victoria, perhaps you know her?"

Hutch swallowed hard. Yeah, he knew her. He knew her in about every way a man and a woman could know each other. And that answered his question if Tori had mentioned him to her parents. Apparently she hadn't.

"We've met," he said.

Something must have shown on his face because Bishop's eyes narrowed.

"I got hurt a while back and she helped patch me back together," Hutch added quickly.

"I see. How is she getting along? Her transfer out here was rather unexpected and her mother and I weren't able to see her off." For the briefest moment, the businessman's briskly efficient facade slipped, allowing Hutch to see Bishop as a concerned parent worried about his child serving overseas. "Her letters home seem cheerful enough but . . ." The older man looked around the base again, clearly doubting how his daughter could possibly find any degree of happiness under these circumstances.

Hutch decided to err on the side of caution.

"I think she enjoys her work here, sir. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."

They arrived at the steps of the Sheep Pen before Bishop could ask him anything else, which Hutch thought was a damned good thing.

"Hey, Greg," he called as they entered the cool interior of the building. "The fellow Lard mentioned is here about the Liberators."

Greg rose from a chair and extended his hand.

"Major Greg Boyington. I'm not sure how much we can help you but you're welcome to ask."

"Good to know you, Major. I'm Edward Bishop with Ford Motors."

Hutch saw a smile spread across Greg's features as he made the connection.

"Any relation to Lieutenant Tori Bishop at the hospital?"

"Tori? You mean Victoria." It was a correction, not a question. "That would be my daughter, Major, do you know her, too?"

"Tori's a lovely girl," Greg said, stressing her nickname as he shook Bishop's hand. "She's done a lot for my men in the last few months." He didn't give the other man a chance to reply. "Whattaya say, Ed, how about a beer while we wait for Sergeant Micklin to join us?"

"I'll go find him," Hutch said, grateful to escape. Yeah, he wanted to meet Tori's family but he would have preferred it happen under slightly different circumstances. Like after the war. When they were back in the States. And he'd showered and shaved and didn't smell like a water buffalo.

He ducked into his tent to grab a shirt, then went to find Micklin.

 **XXX**

Micklin wasn't pleased at being asked to sacrifice prime work time to talk to "some high falutin' paper shuffler who don't know shit from shinola about aircraft" but he calmed down a little bit when Hutch explained the man seemed to be on the up and up.

And he was Tori's father.

"He know you're makin' time with his little girl?" Micklin asked, chomping on his cigar as they mounted the steps to the Sheep Pen. His tone indicated he knew the degree of _making time_ Hutch and Tori were enjoying.

"No, sir, he does not," Hutch muttered through clenched teeth.

"You gonna tell him?"

"Not right now." He needed to get a feel for the man first. He might not be the island's best poker player but he'd sat at the table often enough to know you didn't show your hand any sooner than you had to.

"This is gonna be good," Micklin cackled.

 **XXX**

Greg broke out beers – it was clear he wasn't going to waste the unit's good Scotch on Bishop until he'd taken a measure of the man – and he, Hutch, Micklin and Bishop sat at a table to discuss the merits of the Consolidated B-24 Liberator as it was performing in the South Pacific. Hutch found Tori's father to be knowledgeable beyond what he'd expected from a civilian. He had an engineering background as well as a businessman's keen mind and a straight forward approach to tackling problems. He reminded Hutch of Greg and it was becoming clearer by the minute where Tori got her non-nonsense attitude when it came to handling difficult patients.

Jim ambled in and Greg waved him over to join them as they reviewed the Black Sheep's experiences with the Liberators, since the squadron had flown cover for the heavy, long-range bombers on several missions. TJ slouched into the building a few minutes later, waved a hand in casual greeting and sat down at a table on the opposite side of the room with a ragged copy of _The Omaha World Herald_.

"How does that shoulder-mounted wing hold up, long term?" Greg tapped the schematics spread on the table.

Bishop sighed.

"We're finding it's less able to absorb battle damage than the B-17. I'm not sure Consolidated made much of an improvement over the Flying Fortress in that respect."

Hutch studied the spec sheet.

"It looks like you've got birds coming off the line at five different plants," he said.

"Yes, we're turning out our own birds at Willow Run, along with sending knocked down aircraft out for assembly in San Diego, Fort Worth, Tulsa and Grand Prairie, Texas," Bishop replied. "Is that a problem?"

"Not on paper, sir, but I expect there's enough variation in each plant that repair depots are going to have to stock a lot of different parts to support all those various models. It's hard enough getting one wing nut out here, let alone a wing nut for a bird built in Michigan and a different one for a bird built in Oklahoma and another one for a bird built in California. I know - " he raised a hand, palm out, "– it shouldn't make any difference but it does."

Bishop gave him a shrewd look, then pulled out a notebook and started scribbling.

A jeep motor rumbled and slowed, then stopped next to the building. TJ craned his neck to look out the window.

"Hey Hutch, it's Tori. Damn, that girl looks fine today."

Hutch jerked his head up from the schematics on the table and nearly knocked over his beer.

"Thought the two of you would have gotten enough of each other on the beach last night." TJ whistled. "Bet you celebrated the hell out of her birthday."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hutch said stiffly. He felt Bishop's eyes boring into him like a drill press. Time ground to a halt with the sound of gravel being crushed. Greg arched his eyebrows in a silent, _"He doesn't know?"_

"I mean, you left the bonfire before the sun was down and it was after 0600 when I saw you roll back into the base," TJ continued, cheerfully oblivious. "Did you give her everything she wanted for her birthday? She's sure got a smile on her face so I guess – "

"Shut up, Wiley," Hutch finally managed.

The door of the Sheep Pen slapped open and Tori walked in. She was wearing shorts that displayed her long legs to an advantage and the loose fabric of her crisply laundered T-shirt did nothing to hide the full curve of her breasts. Her hair was wavy with humidity and her cheeks were flushed with heat and good spirits. She broke into a half-bold, half-shy smile Hutch knew was only for him and even though her father was sitting two feet away, he couldn't help but return it with one of his own. He gave up trying to maintain anything resembling a neutral expression. Bishop was still looking at him curiously, pondering Wiley's chatter.

The canvas tote of medical supplies Tori always brought with her when visiting the base was slung over her shoulder. She reached in and lofted a half-full bottle of wine in one hand.

"Hi John, hey guys. I brought the rest of the wine from last night . I thought - " She stopped suddenly and her eyes grew wide. Silence fell over the room like a net.

"Father?"

"Victoria!"

Edward Bishop pushed his chair back from the table and stood as his daughter flung herself into his embrace, still holding the bottle of wine in one hand. For a minute, neither of them spoke, then Tori stepped back, holding the wine awkwardly. Hutch thought she looked like she might pull the cork out with her teeth and have a drink right there on the spot.

"What are you doing here?" she managed, looking happy and stunned at the same time.

"They sent me out here to follow up on the B-24s coming off our line at Willow Run. I couldn't come all this way and not see you. We had the major confab on Espritos but Colonel Lard and General Moore suggested I talk to these boys and get their insight since they've flown with them. I wanted to be here to surprise you for your birthday but it didn't work out." He glanced sideways at Hutch, looked like he was going to say something, but didn't. "Shouldn't you be on duty? And what did you do to your hair?"

Tori hugged him again.

"I went off shift at 1600," she said firmly. "And I cut it." She looked around at the other men. "I see you've already met Major Boyington and Sergeant Micklin and Joh - Sergeant Hutchinson."

"Sergeant Hutchinson met me when I landed. He says you took care of him in the hospital recently."

"She saved his life," Greg said, before Tori could speak. "If it weren't for her quick work, we'd be missing the best mechanic we've got on this rock. I'd say he's giving 110 percent now, right Tori?"

Tori's eyes flew open even wider and she managed a choked, "Yes, he is."

Hutch thought the look she shot Greg would have dropped a weaker man in his tracks. The Black Sheep's leader was unfazed.

Bishop registered the exchange with a keen gaze that reminded Hutch so much of his daughter it was eerie.

"Is that right, Victoria? And how were you injured, Sergeant?"

"It was an air raid, sir. I got hit with shrapnel."

"An air raid?" Bishop looked slightly horrified. He turned to Tori, "And you just happened to be here?"

"I wasn't here when the raid happened," she answered, "at least not that time."

"At least not _that_ time?" Bishop echoed. "How many air raids have there been?"

Tori took her father's hands and gave him a patient smile. Hutch got the feeling Edward Bishop would have liked nothing better than to bundle his youngest daughter onto a plane bound for the States immediately.

"This is a front area, Father, the war invites itself in on a regular basis. That's why I'm here. I just happened to be part of the first medical team on the scene that day."

Greg stood and squeezed Tori's shoulders.

"She's entirely too modest. Hutch would be dead if it hadn't been for her and we all know it. Not just any nurse could do what she's done for him."

Tori gave him another drop dead glare and he returned it with his trademark dimpled smile. Bishop seemed willing to take the conversation at face value. Tori was doing an excellent job of controlling herself, Hutch thought. The tips of her ears were pink but her face was remarkably serene, that porcelain skin not giving anything away. Bishop looked at his daughter like he was seeing her for the first time.

"You never said anything about air raids in your letters."

"I didn't want Mother to worry."

"It's too late for that, Victoria. We know you can't tell us a lot of things because of the censors, but I never imagined . . ." His voice trailed off and he looked around the Sheep Pen, taking in the pinups, the well-stocked bar, the men lounging in various states of dress, then lingering on Hutch before settling on his daughter. He seemed to have reached some kind of decision. "But your mother will be relieved to know life out here seems to agree with you. You look wonderful, honey."

"Tori, stay and have a drink with us," Greg said. "Your dad and Hutch were just finishing up some trouble-shooting with the Liberators. Jim, grab a bottle of Scotch – the good stuff, under the bar."

Jim turned toward the bar. Greg pulled another chair over to the table and invited Bishop to sit back down. Hutch took Tori's arm.

"I didn't expect to see you today." He kept his voice low, aware of the constant pressure of her father's eyes. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I thought I'd bring the wine over. We didn't drink very much of it last night." She blushed now, a soft rose glow that complemented her coloring and made her even more impossibly beautiful. "If I leave it in my room, I'm afraid Delmonte will find it during one of her little inspections."

Jim returned with a bottle and five glasses. Greg poured all around.

"To Lieutenant Bishop," he said, blue eyes sparkling as he lifted his glass in a toast, "and her nursing skills."

"To all the Navy nurses," Tori amended firmly.

They clinked glasses. If Bishop was disconcerted to find his daughter drinking Scotch with men toasting her honor on a fighter base in the middle of the afternoon, he covered it well. He sipped his drink appreciatively, then did a double take as reality hit.

"Victoria, when did you start drinking Scotch?"

She beamed at him.

"Greg – Major Boyington – and the boys always have the best here, Father. I think they've ruined me for drinking it anywhere else."

Greg dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Your daughter knows a good thing when she finds it," he said. Tori rolled her eyes. She had apparently given up.

Bishop opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, as if he couldn't decide which track of the conversation to pursue. He changed the subject.

"Your mother sent a birthday gift for you. It's not much – we weren't sure what you would need out here - but we thought you'd like to have these."

He reached into his briefcase and pulled out an envelope. Tori took it and extracted a handful of small, square photos. Hutch saw her face light up with joy.

"Oh!" she breathed. "These are wonderful! Thank you!" She beamed at her father.

Hutch started to rise. He didn't want to intrude on a family moment.

"No, stay. Please." She reached up and closed her fingers around his wrist, pulling him back into his seat. She handed him a picture of a woman a little older than herself holding a baby in a christening gown. The woman looked a lot like Tori, with the same sculpted facial features and stubborn, sensual mouth. The baby looked like a baby.

"That's my sister Olivia - Livvy - and my littlest niece, Isabelle. Here they are with Patrick, that's Livvy's husband. And this is my sheltie, Tapestry." The dog had a lot of fur and was regarding the camera with a foxy expression.

Hutch was aware – still – of Bishop's watchful eye as Tori shared the photos but the older man faded into the background as Hutch enjoyed both Tori's enthusiasm for her gift and this unexpected window into her life. There were pictures of her horse, Laird, a huge creature with gentle eyes and impossibly long legs, pictures of the dog – Tapestry – sitting in front of a barn, holding the horse's reins in his mouth and even a picture of a little 1934 Ford Roadster she called Ruby.

"No wonder you like the jeeps so much," he said. She elbowed him gently.

Tori flipped to a photo of a woman whose likeness was clearly born in both of her daughters. She was tall and slender, elegant in a fashionable gown, standing by a large fireplace. Her bearing was aristocratic but her smile was warm and generous.

"Is that your ma?" Hutch asked before he could stop himself. Tori met his eyes and they both burst into laughter. He'd heard enough about Portia Bishop to know exactly how she'd react to being called "ma."

"Yes, that's Mother," Tori said.

"I see where you get your looks," he said bluntly. Portia must be in her 50s but she looked young enough to be Tori's sister.

She elbowed him again.

"You're just trying to get on my good side."

Hutch raised his eyebrows.

"Sweetheart, after last night, I know I'm on your good side," he said quietly.

Behind them, Bishop cleared his throat with a discreet cough.

"We took pictures of everything we thought you'd miss from home," he said. "It was your mother's idea."

Tori slowly examined the last of the photos, passing them on to Hutch – her nieces, a grouping of dogs all with that same keen, foxy expression, family members standing in a manicured flower garden, family members dressed in boots and breeches - then she rose and hugged her father fiercely.

"Thank you! They're wonderful! Tell Mother thank you. And tell her to stop worrying about me."

"Your mother has made worrying a full-time occupation since you left. Darling, how much longer will you be stationed out here?"

"As long as they need me." Her voice was soft but Hutch heard the underlying steel. He saw pride in Bishop's eyes battling with an obvious desire to take his little girl out of this rough base and away from the men who called it home.

Casey came in and tossed a slip of yellow paper on the table.

"Greg, we just got a message from Espritos. There's a weather front moving in and rain's got their flights grounded. They won't be able to send a plane back until tomorrow morning." He turned to Bishop. "Looks like you're stuck here for the night, sir."

Bishop frowned uncertainly at the news.

"Don't worry," Greg said. "There are guest quarters at the hospital. We'd put you up in our VIP tent but it's already occupied. Tell you what - why don't you let Tori give you a tour of the hospital then come back here this evening. We'll have a little get together and you can meet the rest of the Black Sheep. You might as well get their input on the Liberators, too. Just make sure you do it before they've had too much to drink. There's no telling what they'll say after that."

Bishop drained his glass.

"Will there be more of this excellent Scotch?"

"All you can drink," Greg said, grinning.

"All right then." Bishop paused. "I understand K.C. Cameron is stationed here with you boys. That man's stories are amazing. Any chance I could meet him?"

"I think that could be arranged," Greg mused. "I'll make sure Cameron's here this evening."

Smiling, Tori rose.

"Come with me, Father. You can meet all the girls I work with and we'll have supper, then come back. These boys throw a spectacular party."

Her father started toward the door. Tori paused and handed Hutch the bottle of wine.

"Hang on to this. We'll finish it later." She looked at her father. "The Aussies make the most amazing cabernet. You'll have to try it." Turning back to Hutch she laid her hand on his and dipped her head slightly. She looked up through lowered lashes. "You will be here tonight, won't you?"

He recognized the coy smile and realized with mild shock she was doing it on purpose. There was no way her old man could miss that.

"Are you inviting me to a party on my own base?"

"Yes," she said, not even trying to hide the flirt. "I am."

Again, he was aware of Bishop's eyes drilling into him. Her hand didn't move. If anything, her body language shifted, becoming more sensual. All right, if that's how she wanted to play it.

"Then I'll be here." He squeezed her hand and let his fingers caress her arm for the barest second.

"Good. I'll see you later, Sergeant."

"See you later, Lieutenant."

When door slapped shut with both Bishops on the other side, Hutch let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

 **XXX**

"What do you girls do for fun when you're not working?"

Edward Bishop was seated in the hospital mess with Tori and Dee on either side and Kate, Laura and Ellen sitting across the table. The girls had taken an immediate liking to Tori's father, which wasn't hard since his manners and bearing exuded the natural charm of a born ladies' man. In spite of the initial shock of his showing up unannounced, Tori was delighted to have him here.

"We go swimming a lot. The beach here is spectacular," Dee said.

"And play volleyball with the Black Sheep," Kate added. She had only introduced herself as Katie. Edward had assumed she was a nurse and Tori, smiling to herself, hadn't said anything.

"We go to parties at the Sheep Pen," Ellen mused dreamily, "or bonfires on the beach with the boys." She brightened. "Did you and John have a good time last night?"

Tori put down her fork.

"We did." She didn't elaborate.

"Did he give you anything special for your birthday?"

Although the question was asked in all innocence, Tori felt, rather than saw, her father's expression change.

"He did," she smiled, willing her heart not to pound so loudly everyone could hear it. "Strawberries."

"How in the world did he get fresh strawberries out here?" Dee exclaimed. "They'd be worth their weight in gold!"

Tori shrugged.

"No idea. Casey was involved so you know it was black market. I didn't ask any questions." She avoided her father's eyes and grinned at Dee. "They were incredible."

"I bet they were." Dee grinned back.

"That's so romantic," Laura sighed. She nudged Kate.

"Black market strawberries?" Not for the first time that day, confusion settled on Edward Bishop's handsome features.

"The boys do a lot of, um, trading for things they can't get through regular channels," Tori explained. "Airplane parts mostly, but alcohol, soap, toilet paper. You name it, they've probably wrangled a deal for it." She shrugged. "Fresh fruit that isn't native is almost non-existent out here. I don't know how Casey pulled it off."

"But how did Sergeant Hutchinson know you like them so much?"

"I told him once." She smiled. The memory of the night they'd lain on the beach, talking about strawberries and fireflies flashed through her mind.

Edward studied his daughter for a long moment, unspeaking. The girls' smiles were knowing. Tori chose not to elaborate. Again. Her father reached some kind of internal conclusion.

"Ladies," Edward said, "I believe I'll take a few minutes to freshen up for tonight's shindig." He turned to Tori. "Shall I meet you in the commons at 7 o'clock, er, 1900?"

"I'll see you then, Father."

As he left the room, Dee narrowed her eyes.

"He has no idea, does he?"

"Nope." Tori said. "But he's nobody's fool."

 **XXX**

Tori, Edward, Dee, Laura and Kate headed for to the Sheep Pen through the early evening sunlight. Tori drove, with Edward riding shotgun and the girls perched in the back.

"You seem to have developed an affinity for jeeps," her father said as they zipped down the dusty track. Tori just laughed and shifted gears. She liked driving the rugged all terrain vehicles with the wind in her hair and the sun on her face. Going back to civilian autos someday would be a complete letdown.

"And mechanics to go with them," Kate said under her breath. If Edward heard her, he didn't say anything.

The boys were waiting when they arrived and Tori was struck again by the sense of family that greeted her as they entered the building. The Black Sheep were as rowdy as ever and although not necessarily shaved and in uniform, most of them had managed a general clean up for the occasion.

The boys were eager to voice an opinion on the B-24s and, more importantly, meet the man who was Tori's father. They were on their best behavior, or at least there were a minimum of rude comments and nobody got drunk. More or less.

Tori watched with amusement when Greg eventually introduced Kate to her father, including her last name and job title. Edward, a business diplomat who always knew what to say on any given occasion, was rendered temporarily speechless. Then Kate handed him a drink, collected her notebook off the bar and said she'd like to ask him a few questions. Tori was still chuckling when John led her to the dance floor.

"Your father is having the time of his life out here," he said as she slipped her hand into his.

"He is, isn't he?" Until the last few hours, she'd never truly appreciated her father's ability to blend himself into whatever situation arose. She was pretty sure he'd never encountered anything like the Black Sheep before.

"You're a lot like him, Tor."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yeah. I think it is. Are you that much like your mother?"

Tori considered this.

"I look like my mother. She worries a little too much about what the neighbors think and she thinks humans should have pedigrees like her dogs but she's truly a kind person." Tori laughed. "It would just never occur to her that some people have to wash their own clothes and cook their own meals."

The music changed tempo to a slow, old-fashioned number.

"Young man, I would like to dance with my daughter."

Tori looked over her shoulder to see Edward standing behind her. John squeezed her waist and handed her off. Tori felt nostalgia wash over her, remembering dancing with her father as a little girl, her sock feet on his polished shoes, then, more formally as a teen and young woman, enjoying the simple athletic grace of gliding across a dance floor at the country club or the summer resort they visited, at hunt balls and family weddings.

Edward seemed to be sharing the same memories. He looked around the building's shabby interior, at the scantily clad pin-ups tacked to the walls and the men, several of them wearing side arms. The cough of a radial engine being fired on the flight line drifted on the night air. The war was never more than a heartbeat away.

"You seem so happy here, Victoria."

"I am." It was the truth. She missed her family and she occasionally missed the creature comforts of the States, but she had everything she truly needed. Above all, she had John.

"Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy, darling." He smiled benevolently and the music carried them around the floor. "I wish this war were over and you were home with us. Your mother and I miss you very much."

"I wish it were over, too, Father," she said. But suddenly, the thought of ever returning to Grosse Pointe struck her with a discordant note. The only place she wanted to be after the war was with John, wherever life took them. She hadn't developed a sudden case of wanderlust but she knew she'd never be happy anywhere without him. The realization stunned her and she shoved it hastily to the back of her mind.

The music on the jukebox changed to the up-tempo jazz of Louis Armstrong.

"Sir?" John stepped up, a roguish smile on his face. "I'd like to dance with your daughter."

 **XXX**

Hutch wasn't sure how he'd ended up in a poker game with Greg, Jim and Edward Bishop. One minute, he was dancing with Tori, the next he was watching Greg lay down winning hands while Bishop quizzed all of them about living and fighting in the South Pacific.

Tori's father didn't intimidate him. On the contrary, he struck Hutch as congenial, with a quick wit, sharp business acumen and a natural diplomacy that allowed him to settle into whatever circumstances presented themselves.

But the fact remained he was Tori's father and Hutch doubted very much the man was oblivious to their relationship. Although he continued to treat Hutch with an easy-going air of bonhomie, he'd felt Bishop's eyes following him with a target lock throughout the evening.

"I'm out." Jim tossed his cards on the table. "Greg, you're skinnin' us."

"Me, too." Hutch folded.

"I could use some fresh air." Bishop looked at him. "Come on, let's give the major a chance to take someone else's money for awhile." He rose from the table. Hutch recognized a summons when he heard one and followed him out the door. Tori was sitting with the girls at another table. She raised her eyebrows as they passed. He didn't say anything, just winked at her.

Outdoors, the two men walked in silence, Bishop soaking in the ambiance of the evening and Hutch wondering where the hell this was going.

"How long have you been in the Corps?" Bishop finally asked.

"Going on three years. I joined right after Pearl. I was at Henderson for most of my first enlistment. When I re-upped, I got assigned to the Black Sheep."

"What do you plan on doing after the war?"

"After the war, sir? That's something we don't talk much about. Seems like tempting fate."

Bishop studied him.

"Let's say the war ended tomorrow – what would you do?"

"Finish my enlistment." Hutch paused. He'd thought about it, all right, but until the war was over - with both him and Tori on the right side of the daisies – he wasn't about to let his head fill up with dreams. "Then I'd go home and take another look at the plans my old man and I had. We were going to open a garage together. Before Pearl."

"So you want to own your own business?"

"Yes, sir. I worked for GM after high school and I expect they'd hire me back but I've been working for a foreman or Uncle Sam all my life and I'd like to be my own boss for the rest of it."

Bishop filed this away.

"How'd you and Victoria meet?"

He wasn't subtle, Hutch thought. Images flashed through his mind in rapid succession, like a news reel. He reviewed and discarded a dozen scenes, aware of the older man's steady gaze.

"She threw me a football." The simple truth was the best answer.

"A football?"

"The girls - the new nurses, I mean – had just landed and they ended up in the middle of our football game. Boyle nearly took Tori's head off with a crazy throw but she caught the ball and threw it back to me."

They'd walked the length of the base now, stopping at the edge of the flight line. Hutch decided he'd had enough of the subterfuge.

"Sir, I think you know your daughter and I are more than just friends."

Bishop stopped. He studied the nearest plane, craning his neck back to take in the massive prop.

"I know." His voice held no hint of approval or disapproval.

"Did she tell you?"

"No. She didn't have to." Bishop turned and held Hutch's steady gaze, choosing his words carefully. "I could tell by the way the two of you act when you're around each other. And I can tell you're better for her than that pantywaist St. Clair ever was."

Hutch nearly choked.

"I knew that the minute I saw you together. You treat her like someone who matters, not just arm candy." Bishop stared into the distance. "She's a big part of your life isn't she?"

"Yes." The single word rang with truth more powerful than any eloquent proclamation of love.

"She feels the same way about you. A man would have to be blind not to see it." Bishop paused again and his mouth compressed into a thin line, as if he were fighting an inner battle. "Victoria was raised with a lot of privileges others don't have but she's got a good head on her shoulders. I see that now. She's not the same person she was when she left for the Nursing Corps. Oh, how her mother tried to talk her out of that." He smiled at the memory. "Once that girl gets an idea in her head, there's no talking her out of it."

"I've noticed," Hutch said dryly.

They walked on.

"This is none of my business and I know it. Victoria's a grown woman. It's clear she doesn't need her parents telling her how to live her life." He paused and Hutch caught the awkward twist to his mouth. "But just how are _involved_ are the two of you?"

"Sir?" Hutch thought he had a pretty good idea what Bishop was asking but decided to let the older man play out his hand.

"When I was your age, we had a saying about not buying the cow when you could get the milk for free."

Uh-huh, that's exactly where he thought this was headed. Hutch stopped walking.

"Sir, there is absolutely nothing free about your daughter. I don't expect there ever will be."

Bishop met his level gaze.

"She's my little girl, John, and no father wants to see their little girl get hurt. I wish to hell she wasn't out here." He waved his hand, looking around at the shabby roughness of the fighter base, then turned to face him. "But if she has to be here, I'm glad she has you to look after her."

"With all due respect, sir, she's good at looking after herself."

Bishop snorted.

"I can tell you know her pretty well."

"Yes, sir." Hutch couldn't help himself. "You could say that."

Bishop exhaled a long breath.

"I met her mother at a dance at the country club in 1919, right after the Great War. We had it easy. We still do. Portia and I never went through anything like this." He waved his hand to indicate the war and stared into the gathering twilight. "I don't know when this mess is going to end. I don't know what will happen after it does and I'm not going to tell either of you what to do. But you have my blessing, son."

Hutch stared, stunned. With one sentence, Bishop had solidified the thoughts that until this moment, had only been drifting, vague and wraith-like, through his mind.

" _You have my blessing, son."_

"Thank you, sir," he managed.

"Now let's go back to the party. My wife is never going to believe me when I tell her I drank whisky with my daughter and one of the men who keeps the Black Sheep in the air and Greg Boyington and K.C. Cameron. I don't want to miss a minute of this."

 **XXX**

The next morning, Tori had to be on duty at 0800 so she drove her father to the fighter base to wait for the plane that would take him back to Espritos. The Black Sheep were lifting off on the morning's mission as they arrived and they watched the powerful planes soar into the air. John met them at the edge of the strip.

"Can you keep him out of trouble until they pick him up?" Tori asked. She noticed the two men exchange a look and wondered, not for the first time, what they'd talked about when they left the party the night before. John hadn't said anything to her when they came back into the building.

Turning to Bishop, John said, "You look like you could use another cup of coffee, sir."

"You boys know how to throw a party," the older man said, rubbing his temples. "Another cup of coffee would hit the spot."

Tori hugged her father and bit the inside of her lip to hold back emotion. She didn't know when she'd see him again. The brief re-connect with her family was bittersweet but her heart had filled with joy as she watched John treat her father with the same easy going respect that marked his interactions with Micklin and Greg. She'd watched boys grovel and try to curry favor with her parents when they'd come calling on both she and her sister back home. John wasn't having any of that. He'd meant it when he said he wasn't afraid of her parents.

"Tell Mother I love her and give her a kiss for me," she told her father as she grasped his hands. "Tell Tapestry I love him and give him a kiss, too."

Bishop laughed.

"I am not kissing your dog, Victoria." He hugged her tightly. "I love you, darling. Be safe."

"I love you, too, Father." She climbed back in the jeep and was gone.

 **XXX**

Colonel Lard's private L-5 arrived at 0900. Hutch walked out with Bishop as the pilot taxied the craft to a stop amidst a swirl of dust.

Bishop extended his hand and Hutch shook it.

"I want to thank you boys for everything you're doing out here," he said. He took a final look around as he opened the door and tossed his briefcase into the plane. "Take care of my little girl. Whether she wants you to or not."

"It will be an honor, sir." Hutch didn't even try to keep the grin off his face.

 **XXX**

 _Author's note: this is the final chapter. If I had an ounce of good sense, I'd end the story here and let John and Tori ride off into the sunset on La Cava. But no one's ever accused me of that so I decided to write an epilogue because heaven knows I can't stand not having things tied up nice and neat with a bow on them. Besides, you haven't met Portia Bishop yet. And there's more stuff that needs to happen. Like the end of World War II. You didn't think I could just leave that hanging, did you?_


	17. Chapter 17

**Epilogue, Part 1: Last sunrise on La Cava**

 **Vella La Cava Navy Hospital, Nurses' quarters**

A light knock sounded as Tori was changing after her shift.

"Come in."

"I know your birthday was last week." Kate stepped into the room and handed her a large envelope. "I had these printed but didn't get a chance to give them to you, then your dad was here and I wasn't sure if you wanted him to see . . . . oh, just open it."

Tori opened the envelope and pulled out a handful of black and white 8 x 10 inch photos. The first was of her sitting in a jeep, talking to John. She recognized it as the day she'd driven out to check on Micklin's hand shortly after she arrived on the island. Kate had captured the moment perfectly – John's easy, flirty smile and her hesitant admiration.

"I hope you don't think I'm some kind of creepy voyeur," Kate said hastily. "But I was on the line that afternoon and saw you pull up and, well, the two of you are really photogenic. He's all dark and you're all light and . . ." She shrugged, grinning. "I couldn't help it."

The next picture was what Tori would come to think of years later as the essence of her time in the South Pacific. She was wearing shorts and a shirt tied at her midriff, sitting on the wing of a Corsair, bare legs dangling. John, shirtless as always, stood with a hand resting casually on her thigh. Her hand covered his. They were both grinning at the camera like they owned the world.

There were more. John's arm around her shoulders as they watched the airframe of #442 burning. Tori playing poker in the Sheep Pen, a desperate look on her face. Sitting on a pile of sandbags with Meatball on her lap. Clinking a whisky tumbler with Dee. John standing between Micklin and Greg, looking as if his patience were being tested. John with the Black Sheep. Her with the Black Sheep. More of her with John – sitting on the beach, dancing, lost in one another's eyes. Each photo was labeled in Kate's neat handwriting, "KC Cameron, Vella La Cava, Solomons 1943."

"These are wonderful, Kate! When did you take them all? I mean, I remember posing for some of them but . . . just . . . wow."

Kate shrugged.

"You and Hutch _do_ tend to be in the same place together a lot." She grinned. "I thought you might like to have them."

"Thank you." Tori hugged her. There was little place in any of their current lives for material things. As John had proven the night of her birthday, gifts were given from the heart, bits of thoughtfulness that made their circumstances more bearable. Kate's photos captured the moments of joy, of security, humor, trust and everything that made this impossible place feel like home. Especially as she and John shared them together.

 **XXX**

Time passed. The war churned on. The Black Sheep flew and fought and drank. Hutch repaired and rebuilt and kept them in the air. At the hospital, Tori's skill as a trauma nurse grew as she worked shoulder to shoulder with Dee and Dr. Reese and the other girls. She and John flirted and teased and enjoyed one another in a variety of different ways in a variety of different places.

The photos pinned to the corkboard in her quarters grew in number. Kate added to them routinely, printing shots she took of Tori, either by herself at the hospital, with John, the girls or the Black Sheep.

In early December, Tori held back a few of her absolute favorites, then fixed the remainder carefully into an album and mailed it home to her parents, both for safe keeping and as a quasi-Christmas gift. Her mother's letters lately had started containing an alarming number of references to the comings and goings of eligible bachelors in the community. It was high time her mother realized she was wasting her ink, Tori thought. A picture was worth a thousand words, after all, and she knew Portia wasn't blind.

 **XXX**

 **December 1943**

 **Summerview Estate**

 **Grosse Pointe, Mich.**

Portia Bishop sat at her rosewood secretary in her home's graciously appointed parlor, addressing holiday greeting cards. A fire crackled in the fireplace and Gypsy, a sable and white Shetland sheepdog, slept by her feet. Beyond the damask draperies, the season's first snowflakes were falling. On the wireless, Bing Crosby sang promises of being home for Christmas. Portia thought about Victoria, thousands of miles away in the South Pacific. Victoria would not be home for Christmas.

After his trip to Vella La Wherever a few months ago, Edward had assured her their youngest daughter was in fine health and high spirits. Then he'd told her about the boy. The boy with working man's hands, dark eyes and an easy smile. The boy who told Edward with quiet bluntness that he and Victoria were "more than friends." The boy, Edward said, who made their daughter light up from within when they were together. She sighed and put it out of her mind for the hundredth time. There was no sense borrowing trouble. This foolish war would end, Victoria would come home and meet a nice young man from their social circle and that would be that. That was how these things worked.

She heard the front door open and the low murmur of cheerful voices. Then the door closed and footsteps clicked on the polished wooden floor of the hall and into the parlor.

"Package for you, ma'am."

Abigail Carter, who'd been the Bishop's housekeeper since Portia and Edward were newlyweds, set a box on the end table near the Victorian-era sofa that existed only because it was a family heirloom. It was too uncomfortable for anyone to actually sit on. The housekeeper regarded the box with undisguised interest.

"Thank you, Abigail." Portia returned to her greeting card. When the housekeeper made no move to leave, she asked, "Who's this one from?" With Christmas in less than a week, it was a rare day when she and Edward didn't receive at least one holiday gift from their contemporaries. Writing thank-you notes was becoming a full-time occupation.

The housekeeper beamed.

"It's from Miss Victoria. All the way from the South Pacific." She didn't appear to have any pressing business and kept glancing hopefully at the package.

Portia couldn't suppress a little thrill at the realization the box was from Victoria. The girl was headstrong and independent but she was still her daughter. Portia capped her fountain pen and laid it aside, careful not to smudge the ink on the note she was writing. Abigail, beaming, hadn't moved an inch from where she'd placed the box. The housekeeper's endless curiosity was the only annoying trait in an otherwise flawless career as a domestic, but to tell the truth, Portia was glad to take a break from the holiday cards. Six months ago she thought she would be announcing Victoria's marriage to Preston St. Clair III this season. She admitted, though, she was even prouder to announce her youngest daughter was overseas, serving her country.

Portia picked up the travel-worn box and studied the smooth handwriting: Mr. and Mrs. Edward Bishop, Summerview Estate, Grosse Pointe, Michigan. She tugged the twine loose and pushed away the brown paper to reveal a sturdy cardboard box. Lifting the lid, she found a letter resting atop a photo album. She opened the letter.

 _Dearest Mother and Father,_

 _Merry Christmas! How I wish I were home to tell you in person. When I close my eyes, I see the house decorated with evergreens and candles and can smell Mrs. Fitzsimmons baking up a storm. Please eat some of her gingerbread dogs for me and know I am with you in spirit during this blessed season._

 _I am sending you these photographs for safekeeping. Kate continues to add to my collection and I do not want to risk them being damaged or destroyed here. I invite you to enjoy them, share them with Livvy and Patrick and keep them safe until my return._

 _Father, you will know these are a representation of my life here. Perhaps you can share the significance of each with Mother, as you have experienced both the hospital and base first hand. And the personnel of both, whom you know are dear to my heart._

 _I miss you both desperately and pray each night this madness will end, that we may be reunited again._

 _All my love,_

 _Victoria_

 _P.S. Father, Kate asked me to remind you that her true identity remain a secret._

Portia set the letter aside. She lifted the album from the box and opened it. "Photographs by K.C. Cameron, taken on Vella La Cava, The Solomons, 1943" was carefully inscribed on the inside cover. The first photo was of . . . Victoria? Was that really her daughter? Portia drew in her breath. Yes, it most certainly was. She was sitting on the wing of an airplane, bare legs dangling. Her hair was unruly, her clothing was totally unfashionable and she looked completely in her element. A tall, rangy young man was standing next to her, his hand on her thigh. The boy was dark haired, unshaven, with a bold smile. She arched her eyebrows. Edward hadn't mentioned he was so . . . so . . .

She carefully turned the page and lifted the sheet of paper separating the prints. This time, Victoria and the young man – John, that was his name - were standing in front of a jeep. They had their arms around one another's waists and she was leaning into his embrace in spite of his state of general filthiness.

"Ooooh, is that Miss Victoria's young man?" Abigail peered unapologetically around Portia's shoulder.

"Yes," Portia said slowly. "It would appear so."

She flipped to the next photograph and drew in her breath. Victoria and John were standing amidst a group of other men and women in various degrees of military dress, all lofting bottles of beer. He was tall and lean and dark, she was tall and slender and fair. They complemented each other, she realized, as though the whole was somehow greater than the sum of the parts.

"My," the housekeeper fluttered her hand over her heart. "He's a handsome devil, isn't he?"

"Yes," Portia said slowly. "He is."

Her eyes misted as she realized her daughter and this young man – who she'd never met, from a family she didn't know - were looking at one another the same way she and Edward had looked at each other in their wedding photo 30 years ago. A lump of emotion rose in her throat.

She closed the cover of the album. Abigail looked disappointed.

"I'll wait until Edward gets home this evening and look at the rest of them with him," Portia said. She returned abruptly to her cards. Abigail sighed and went back to dusting the front hall.

 **January 9, 1944**

 **Nurses' quarters**

"I'm so sorry, Kate."

Tori wrapped her arms around her friend and thought the correspondent felt like a shadow of her former vibrant self.

"Thank you." Kate's voice was soft.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Kate shook her head. She was pale but dry-eyed and carried herself with a resolute stiffness that belied her loss.

"No, thank you. I'm okay, really." Her tone was not as certain as her words.

Six days earlier, Greg had been shot down over Rabaul and everything changed in a heartbeat. Word had come in three days ago that he'd been listed as missing, presumed dead. In spite of Casey's and Jim's combined efforts to hold the squadron together, Colonel Lard wasted no time pulling the plug on the Black Sheep. The air battle against the Japanese was moving onto carriers, land bases were being slowly eliminated. The 214 would soon be a thing of the past.

With the base soon to be evacuated, the hospital was closing as well. The girls sat up late at nights, talking about where they'd go next. Some of those with seniority took immediate advantage of the opportunity to transfer to Australia or New Zealand, to return to Pearl or even all the way to the States.

Laura and Ellen had already been re-assigned, leaving La Cava to be posted on one of the hospital ships serving the theater. Dee was headed back to Pearl Harbor at Casey's insistence. She would have been gone by now but refused to leave until she was sure Kate had a firm plan in place for her future.

Greg's loss hit them all hard. He'd formed the Black Sheep, brought them together and melded them into a fighting force that set air combat records, only to break them and set new ones. The nurses, whether in long- or short-term relationships with the boys, were part of that family. Tori felt like the tapestry that wove them together was being slowly unraveled.

Dee's dark head popped into the room.

"Tor? Delmonte wants to see you next."

"You'd better go," Kate said. "I'll talk to you again before I leave." Her smile didn't mask the pain in her eyes but Tori could feel steel resolve radiating from her. Casey and Don were helping her finesse plans to return to a civilian newspaper job in the States. Until she found out what had happened to Greg. Until their baby came.

She should be half as brave, Tori thought, walking through the halls of the semi-evacuated hospital toward the commander's office. She hadn't lost the man she loved. She wasn't pregnant and alone.

The Black Sheep were being scattered to the four winds. Most had either been assigned to nearby units or were cooling their heels on Espritos where they'd been tossed into the pilots pool, subject to the whims of the war.

John, along with a large chunk of the ground crew, would stay on La Cava until the last of the men and equipment were cleared out, then he'd move to Henderson Field on Guadalcanal, turning wrenches on B-24 Liberators launching from there as part of reconnaissance operations.

"I'm in this until the end," he'd told her father.

So was she. She'd already decided to re-enlist. There was no way she could go home, knowing John was still here. They'd be in it until the end together.

Commander Delmonte looked up when Tori knocked on her door.

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"I'm processing the assignments for hospital personnel and wanted to discuss your next posting. Your performance here has been exemplary, Bishop, your service has gone above and beyond. And - ," she raised her eyebrows, "I've received a memo from General Moore saying you're to be given your choice of Stateside bases. Just say the word and you'll be on a plane home at 0800 tomorrow."

The words slammed into Tori's stomach like a fist. She knew this had been coming but hearing it said aloud drove it home with brutal reality. She lifted her chin.

"With all due respect to General Moore, ma'am, I want to stay in the theatre."

Delmonte looked up from the paperwork she was shuffling. She sighed.

"Lieutenant Ryan told me you'd say that. Are you sure? If you don't take this chance to go home, I can't guarantee you'll get another one. You'll be out here until this mess ends."

"Yes, ma'am. I realize that."

Delmonte flipped through the papers on her desk and pulled out a slim folder.

"If you're determined to stay, there's a spot available at the field hospital on Rendova. They have minimal staff, one doctor, four nurses and a couple of medics. You'd replace one of the girls, who, um," she peered at the file, "had to be transferred out due to circumstances."

The commander didn't finish the sentence and Tori knew what that meant. The girl was either pregnant or Section 8. Or both.

"That would suit me fine, ma'am."

Delmonte's perpetual scowl registered fleeting amusement.

"Lieutenant, not to put too fine of an edge on it but Rendova is even more of a dump than La Cava. There's a small Army base and the Marine fighter wing there has a reputation that's nearly as bad as the Black Sheep's."

Tori knew Jim and TJ had been reassigned there, joining the Fighting Gryphons of VMF 149. Kate's sister, Sarah, was stationed with the Army on Rendova, too. It wasn't much. It wasn't even a promotion. If she had an ounce of sense, she'd be packing her bags for the States and get out of the Navy the first chance she got. Her parents would welcome her back with open arms. If she wanted to continue nursing, any Stateside hospital would be happy to have her. If not, the Grosse Pointe Country Club would be delighted to see a native daughter return.

Except John was going to Guadalcanal and Rendova was a hell of a lot closer to that than anywhere in the States was. And she wasn't interested in anything the Grosse Pointe Country Club had to offer anyway.

"Yes, ma'am. I realize that." She forced herself to relax her clenched fingers.

Delmonte smiled. For a minute, she almost looked maternal. Almost.

"All right, Bishop. I'll process your transfer to Rendova." She scrawled her signature on the bottom of a form and handed it to Tori. "God help you."

 **XXX**

Tori woke with an inexplicable ache in her heart. She tried to shake it off as she lay in her bed, staring out the window as the first hint of the brushed the underside of the clouds with warm orange. It was her last morning at the hospital. By the time the sun set this evening, she'd be on a new base. It was her last day on an island she'd never wanted to come to and now she didn't want to leave.

Her tiny closet was empty, her desk cleared, personal effects sorted through and downsized. Things she had borrowed from the other girls over the last six months had been returned. The photos Kate printed for her were safely packed for travel.

Last night, she and John made love on the beach. They'd been frighteningly close to the base but neither of them cared. They were unlikely to be disturbed but the possibility only added to the intensity of their loving. Now she had no idea when they would see each other again. They had talked about meeting during R and R but that would only be at the war's convenience, not theirs. The war. The damned war. It both brought them together and pulled them apart.

The room suddenly felt too small. Tori rose and dressed quickly, then slipped out of the hospital compound and down to the beach. She sat, wrapped her arms around her legs and inhaled the salt tang of the breeze. If she pulled it deeply enough into her lungs, perhaps it would carry away the doubt that gripped her.

The war couldn't go on forever, could it? It was well into its third bloody year in the South Pacific, longer than that in Europe. The Allies were gathering strength but Japan refused to back down. Everyone said the Allies would win, that Japan would surrender and they could all go home. What happened then?

A hand squeezed her shoulder and she yelped.

"Dee told me she saw you come down here."

John held out his hands and pulled her up.

"Hey." She stepped into him and kissed him lightly, deliberately scraping her lips across his unshaven jaw as if to imprint the sensation on her memory. Like she could ever forget. "I'm going to buy you a razor for your birthday."

He chuckled.

"If it's all the same sweetheart, I'd rather have what you gave me for my half-birthday." She matched his grin, drawn by the impossible force of it, and stepped into his embrace.

They stood, silent, as the sun began to pull itself over the horizon.

"It's our last sunrise together." Her words quavered and she hated herself for it.

"Tori, it's not forever." His voice was low. "Hell, if Gutterman and Sarah made it work, I know we can."

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I know. It's just . . . I don't know when I'll see you again and . . ." she sniffed, "I don't want to stay here in the middle of a war but I don't want to leave, either."

She wrapped her arms tight around his waist, drawing on the solid strength of his body. He was everything good in her life and she never wanted to let go.

"You're not leaving the war. You're just going to another part of it. So am I."

She heard the catch in his voice and looked up, startled. John wasn't given to sudden emotion. As long as she'd known him, he'd been level-headed and practical with that sense of dry humor that pulled her out of her own nightmare more than once.

"I will never leave you," he said. He pried her hands loose from his waist and gripped her shoulders. Uncertain, she stepped back. John took both her hands in his and dropped to one knee.

"What are you . . . oh . . ." Tori's words faded as the look in his eyes pushed all other thoughts out of her mind. The sun broke fully over the horizon, gilding the angles of his face as he looked up into hers. In one breath, the doubt and anxiety that had haunted her since Greg's disappearance vanished, scoured away on the morning breeze and suddenly the world was infinite with possibility.

"Victoria Bishop, you are the most amazing woman I know. I want you in my life, for the rest of my life. Tori, will you marry me?"

 **XXX**

 **1 ½ years later**

 **August 29, 1945**

For all intents and purposes, the war was over. Tori wasn't sure what she'd expected but the reality of it seemed to fall far short of anything she'd anticipated.

The _USS Benevolence_ lay at anchor off Yokosuka, Japan. The 802-bed hospital ship was preparing for the casualty evacuation of yet another Japanese POW camp. Some place called Omori.

Another day, another POW camp, Tori thought as she sat in her stateroom-turned-office, wearily reviewing the next day's duty schedule. She had a new respect for the months Kate managed to blend living and working area. No wonder her tent on La Cava had always been such a disaster. This tiny space had been both quarters and office for the last two months and had given Tori a new appreciation for the term "ship shape."

She dropped her pencil and stretched her arms over her head, feeling vertebrae in her neck and spine crack. She was exhausted. The influx of men coming out the camps had pushed her staff to the limit. The bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima had crushed Japan – finally – into submission. The war was over except for the shouting.

While generals and admirals saluted and signed papers, she and her staff picked up the pieces of men's lives. Some of the Allied prisoners came out of the camps as hollow shells, others with bodies damaged beyond repair. She'd worked 12- and 14-hour shifts almost daily for the last month, overseeing treatment of the avalanche of diseased, damaged and dying men who were herded onto the hospital ships after being freed. She ate, slept and worked, the sphere of her world limited to the confines of the ship. She couldn't remember the last time she'd read a Stateside newspaper or listened to a civilian radio broadcast. The only things that kept her sane were her thoughts of John and the knowledge they would be together again. Someday.

She shoved the duty roster away and let her eyes linger on a photo pinned above her desk. It had grown dog-eared but she'd kept it with her over the miles from La Cava to Rendova to New Caledonia and now here.

It was perhaps her favorite of the many Kate had taken. She and John were standing in front of a Corsair, the big prop and bent wing slightly blurred in the background. Kate had caught them in a moment of reckless humor. Tori grinned at the memory. John had been teasing her about something, his hands around her waist. She was poking him in the chest with a finger. They were both laughing – she was glowing with heat and sunshine. He was shirtless, windblown and disreputable. She'd sent the original print home to her parents with a collection of other photos. It had probably caused her mother to spontaneously combust, Tori mused. Kate had printed another copy for her when she'd asked.

Unconsciously, her hand moved to the second button of her blouse. Opening it, she pulled a thin chain free of the fabric. Her fingers stroked the smooth, round object dangling from it. She'd looked at it so many times over the last year and a half she'd memorized every swirl and curve. The ring was carved from a paua shell, a mad swirling palette of teal and indigo and purple. John had carved and polished it himself, had slid it over her finger their last morning at La Cava when she'd answered his question without hesitation, "Yes."

Yes. She would marry him. Yes, she would spend the rest of her life with him. There was nothing she wanted more.

She just didn't have any idea when or how that was going to happen. She'd re-upped. He was still at Henderson and she was on this floating hospital. They saw each other on R and R whenever they could make it work. Tori smiled. Oh yeah. They R and R'd the hell out of it when it worked. It just didn't work often enough for either of them.

So much had happened in the last 20 months. She saw Jim and Sarah a lot while she was on Rendova, but she'd left there to help establish a hospital on New Caledonia, then accepted this transfer and the promotion that came with it. Dee was still at Pearl. Laura had gone with her. Ellen was in the theatre, serving in a hospital on Munda. Kate was back in the states but Tori wasn't sure where she'd gone after her baby was born.

Tori corresponded with Dee regularly, although Dee's letters had a hard time finding her, now that she served on a floating base that didn't stay in one place very long. She knew, via Dee, that Kate believed Greg was alive no matter what the War Department said. She believed he'd been taken prisoner that horrible day in 1944 and she was waiting for him to come home. Tori admired her grit. She knew what it felt like to love a man stationed on a base hundreds of miles away. She couldn't imagine what it was like to love a man everyone thought was dead.

She tried keeping up with the Black Sheep but they were scattered to the winds, some serving on carriers, others in land-based squadrons. She thought all the boys were still alive but other than Jim and Casey, who stayed in contact with Hutch for black market reasons, she was uncertain. She treasured the memories of the six months she'd spent with them on La Cava, prayed every night for all their souls, for an end to the war and that they would be reunited with their loved ones.

"Tori, come quick!"

She jerked her thoughts back to the present as Lieutenant Doreen McGillicuddy ricocheted off the doorframe, excitement etched across her features. Doreen was still as plump and effervescent as the day Tori had met her two years ago.

"What is it?" She tucked the ring and the chain back into her blouse and fastened the button. She could feel the warmth of the shell pressed against her skin like a living thing, a reminder of John's touch. Someday.

"They're bringing the men from Omori on board. They've been triaged by an away team but Commander Martin wants you on deck to help with documentation."

Tori rolled her eyes. Commander Beatrice Martin was not a force to be ignored. She wouldn't just want documentation, she'd want it in triplicate. Tori followed Doreen, both women moving briskly through the ship, occasionally flattening themselves against the bulkheads to allow other crew members to pass. Converted from a passenger liner and transferred to the U.S. Navy a year earlier, the _Benevolence_ had been stripped of many of her amenities but Tori was thankful the passageways were generously proportioned. She'd been unprepared for the degree of back-pocket living she'd encountered on the ship. And she'd complained about the lack of privacy on La Cava, she thought drily.

The scent of salt water greeted her as they climbed the last flight of steps. Sunshine broke over her face and the ever-present ocean breeze tugged at her hair. Men – liberated Allied prisoners of war – were straggling across the deck in a ragged queue. Tori shaded her eyes, looking for Commander Martin. She'd just sighted the woman's imposing form when a hoarse shout snapped her head around.

"Hey! Is that you, Bishop?"

The voice cut across years. Tori whirled amid the stream of bodies straggling past. Her eyes darted to find the speaker, skimming over the hoard of emaciated, filthy men being herded toward the medical bays below decks.

"It is you! Damn, sweetheart, you're a sight for sore eyes!"

The man's clothes were ragged and his skin dirty but Tori would have recognized those stunning blue eyes anywhere. He was among the ambulatory, assisting another man with a makeshift crutch.

"Greg! Oh my God, Greg!"

Breaking protocol, she flew across the deck and without hesitation, embraced him. He squeezed her tight, then set her firmly back at arm's length.

"Don't get too close," he said. "I probably have lice and God knows what else."

"You're alive!" It was a relatively obvious declaration but it was the best she could come up with.

"Thanks for the confirmation. This can't be hell if you're here, too."

Tori's mind spun. Words fell over themselves in confusion, tangling in a pile before they could leave her mouth. She reached out and gripped his hands, ignoring his general state of filth. They stood, looking at each other.

"It's so good to see you again," she started, then paused, seeing both relief and loss etched on his face. He looked like a man who'd awoken from a long, troubled sleep and wasn't sure what to do with this new reality.

"It's good to see you again, too, Lieutenant Bishop." His voice was rough. She couldn't tell if it was due to emotion or illness.

"That's Lieutenant Commander Bishop to you, Major," she said, unable to hide her smile.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander." His eyes sparkled and she could see his cheeks crease with the familiar dimples under the scruff of beard. "How's Hutch?"

"He's good – he's on Henderson." She hesitated, then couldn't help herself. "He asked me to marry him."

Greg took her left hand, inspected it and seeing the lack of a wedding ring said, "I assume you said yes. What are you waiting for?"

"For Uncle Sam to get done with us first."

Again, she saw pain mingle with joy in his expression but he chuckled, nonetheless.

"I knew the two of you were meant for each other the day Hutch and I drug Micklin to the hospital."

Tori opened her mouth, starting to tell him Kate was alive and well and waiting for him in the States but she was cut off abruptly when one of the nearby ex-POWs stumbled and cried out. She sprang forward, gathering the man in her arms as he crumpled.

"Medic!"

A white uniformed orderly sprinted to her assistance. By the time she'd overseen loading the man onto a stretcher to be hustled below decks, Greg had disappeared from her sight, swept along with the masses.

It was the next day before Tori had a chance to ask Commander Martin about Major Boyington's whereabouts. The commander informed her he'd been spirited away already, whisked off the ship within hours of his arrival by top brass eager to present their war hero to a euphoric American public.

As the sun set that evening, Tori gripped the rail and looked across the vast spread of the Pacific Ocean, praying that Greg and the woman he loved would find each other. Then she repeated the prayer she'd said so often she could recite it in her sleep - the prayer that she and John could soon put an end to their vagabond lifestyle and truly begin to share their lives together.

The war in the South Pacific officially ended Sept. 2, 1945, when Japan signed the treaty aboard the _USS Missouri_. The _Benevolence_ was there, anchored in Tokyo Bay, but the Empire of Japan's surrender didn't translate to anything resembling peace for Tori or the medical personnel she served with. She and John agreed three weeks later, on their next mutual leave, that she would return to the States the first chance she got and finish her enlistment there. He would find her as soon as he could.

 **XXX**

 **Two months later**

 **Late October 1945**

 **Philadelphia, PA**

Tori stood on her tiptoes, fighting the jostling crowd at Broad Creek Station. The 2:15 p.m. train from Detroit had arrived on time but that had been 20 minutes ago and she still hadn't found John. He had to be here somewhere in this crush of humanity. She pulled the collar of her jacket up against the chilly wind. She didn't see TJ, either. Both boys were going to meet her here and the three of them would travel south to Kentucky for Greg and Kate's wedding.

Tori's heart ached with happiness for them and she sighed at the sheer romance of it. Kate waited, unwavering in her belief he would come back to her. Greg found her, steadfast in the love that had kept him alive during his tenure as a POW. Now Tori was looking forward to celebrating what promised to be the wedding of the century and she was looking forward to celebrating it with John.

The last week had been her own personal emotional roller coaster as she'd put the South Pacific behind her for good, traveling to Pearl, then back to the Navy base at San Diego, then on to Michigan where she spent the first part of a long overdue leave with her parents. She'd go back to San Diego when her leave was over and John would go . . . somewhere. She decided not to think about it.

She craned her neck. _Where was he?_ She hadn't seen him in more than a month. Her cheeks glowed hot in the chill breeze as she remembered the last time they'd managed to make their leave time match up. It hadn't been enough. It was never enough. John was still at Henderson, keeping birds in the air as the Allies' mopping-up operations continued. Their future together twisted in the wind as much now as it had during their last sunrise together.

She bit her lip. She'd gotten the telegram from him only four days ago with instructions to meet the 2:15 from Detroit at the Broad Street Station and they would go to the wedding together. Tori silently cursed every blessed person milling around on the platform, getting in her way. She caught admiring glances from a number of male passersby but ignored them. She was in Navy uniform, there hadn't been time to shop for civilian clothes and what she'd brought with her from the South Pacific was completely unsuitable for Michigan in late October.

She was considering climbing onto one of the benches – unladylike in every possible respect but she didn't care - when she saw him, tall and dark, his stride marked by the slightest limp, shouldering his way through the throng toward her. His khaki uniform marked him among the crowd of men in business suits. She caught her breath, realizing this was the first time in her life she'd seen him in a complete formal uniform. Her heart jumped dizzyingly in her chest. It wouldn't matter how many times she saw him from a distance, picked him out of a crowd, watched him working surrounded by other men, her heart would always skip that initial beat as it recognized its soulmate. Dark. Rough. Irreverent. Hers.

As if she'd spoken the words out loud, his eyes found her and he came to a standstill, other travelers flowing past him like water around a rock.

Then they were both running, the crowd seemed to part between them and she flung herself into his arms. Neither of them spoke. She inhaled, breathing in soap, the wool of his uniform jacket, the scent of his skin. His mouth crushed against hers and she moaned, oblivious of the stares of passing strangers. It had been so long and he felt so wonderful. She never wanted to let go of him again. The kiss deepened, totally inappropriate for a train station platform but she didn't care.

"For the love of God, you two, get a room."

TJ's familiar voice fell across her ear. John didn't take his mouth from hers. Tori waved absently with one hand but didn't break the embrace.

"Seriously. Come on! The train for Lexington leaves in five minutes."

Tori's eyes were still closed, her mouth hot on John's, defying anyone to separate them.

"Jesus, Hutch, let the girl come up for air!"

They broke apart, lost in each other's eyes. TJ stood a few feet away, looking impatiently at his watch. Tori reluctantly untangled herself and embraced TJ. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and said, "It's good to see you, too." He rolled his eyes.

The two men gathered up their luggage, grabbed Tori's bags and they made their way down the platform to board the 2:45 train to Lexington. From there, they'd travel to Cedar Creek and the small country chapel where Kate and Greg would pledge their love to each other in front of God and witnesses.

With her arm through John's, Tori glowed with the euphoria of having him back in her life, even it was probably only for a matter of days. If the war had taught her anything, it was to live in the moment.


	18. Chapter 18

_(Author's disclaimer: I unrepentantly fudged the publication date of Tom Brokaw's book, "The Greatest Generation." It was published in 1998 but I needed the quote in 1960. You're just gonna have to deal with it. Heck, maybe Tom heard someone use the term in 1960 and it just took him 38 years to write it down.)_

 **Epilogue: The Greatest Generation**

 **Cedar Creek, Kentucky**

 **The morning after Greg and Kate's wedding**

Tori eased back into the motel room and set two foam cups of coffee from the nearby diner on the bedside table. She found the curtain pull and flooded the room with light.

"Oh. God," John groaned from the bed. "Make it stop."

"Good morning, sunshine." Tori sank down atop the covers. "I brought coffee."

John rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his face. He lifted it, gave her a bleary look and dropped it again.

"How is it, you look so damned good this early and I'm dying?"

She regarded him with amusement.

"It's not early – it's the middle of the morning," she said drily. "And you're not dying, although after everything you drank last night, I'm sure it feels that way." The wedding celebration had raged for hours, alcohol flowing as freely as it ever did in the Sheep Pen as the guests were reluctant to see the evening end. Tori reached out and ruffled John's hair. "I, on the other hand, exercised sensible restraint. Who do you think poured you into the car and drove you back here?"

"You're a good woman, Tor." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd probably be waking up on the floor at White Oak with TJ and French. And you'd have to get your own coffee." She held out a cup. John shoved himself into a sitting position, took it and drank. He sat, eyes closed, inhaling the steam.

"I might live."

"Good. It would be rude to expire before lunch. We're supposed to meet at White Oak before Kate and Greg leave for Niagara and everyone else heads out." She named the country estate where Kate had worked while waiting to learn if Greg was alive or dead.

Restless, Tori pushed herself off the bed. She stood, inspecting the jacket and trousers of John's uniform, which she'd hung neatly after dragging them off him the previous night. It was busy-work and it kept her mind from lingering on the inevitable. _Before you and I have to say good-bye again._

John swung his legs over the edge of the bed. She took a moment to admire his lean frame. He'd look the same at 40, she thought, and 50 and 70. He wasn't the kind of man who would ever be given softness and fat. She turned away, intent on brushing imaginary wrinkles out of a clean shirt when warms hands gripped her shoulders.

"Tor?" He spun her around to face him. "We need to get married."

She blinked. In a fit of wedding-induced daring, they'd signed the motel register as Mr. and Mrs. John Hutchinson. If the desk clerk noticed an absence of wedding rings, he hadn't said anything. Tori had a sudden, absurd image of being ousted by the morality police.

"Okay . . ." she said slowly. He'd asked her to marry him so long ago and they'd talked about it so often without being able to act on it, the idea had come to seem like a dream, something ethereal floating just beyond her reach. They'd get married later, when the war was over. Later, when they were back in the States. Later, when they were both out of the service.

John stroked the hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

"I like waking up with you. I'm tired of _not_ waking up with you. I've only got six months left in the Corps, they're sending me to Alaska next and I want to go there knowing . . ." his voice faltered briefly, "knowing you're mine."

"Yes," she said simply.

How often had that single word had shaped her destiny, she mused. _Yes_ , she'd said to General Moore that night as she held the tatters of her dress together, I trust you to fix this mess. _Yes_ , she'd said to John the night in his tent after the storm, I trust you with my body. _Yes_ , she'd said to him again, that morning on the beach on La Cava, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

She reached up and touched his face. His jaw was covered with dark stubble and his hair was standing up.

"Yes," she repeated firmly, as her heart seized the idea and ran with it. "I like waking up with you, too, and I don't care if we're in Timbuktu. John, let's not wait. The pastor who did Kate and Greg's ceremony was wonderful. I'm sure he'd marry us."

John looked at her, surprised at her unhesitating acquiescence.

"But don't you want a big church wedding with your family and everything?"

"No." She shook her head. Olivia's wedding to Patrick had been the social event of Grosse Pointe that year. The gowns. The flowers. The guest list. The reception. The caterers. The musicians. Tori been 18 at the time. The glamour of it had been fun but that had been six years and a world war ago. No, she did _not_ want a big church wedding.

"Sweetheart, we're only doing this once. Are you sure? Don't you want a white dress and everything that goes with it?"

"No," she said firmly. "I don't need it."

"Maybe you don't _need_ it," he stressed the word, "but do you _want_ it? It's your wedding, Tori. I thought girls set a lot of store by all that stuff."

"It's _our_ wedding," she corrected. "And I don't want it. All I want is you."

"Won't your parents be disappointed?"

"This is about us, John," she said quietly, "not my parents. I didn't even tell them we were going to get married." Before he could say anything, she pressed her fingers over his lips. "Believe me, it's not the sort of thing you want to dangle in front of my mother without solid facts to back it up – date, time, place, guest list, colors, number of attendants . . . " She rolled her eyes. "No way was I opening that can of worms without talking to you first. What about you? Do your parents know?"

He chuckled.

"Oh yeah. But all they know is that I asked you and you said yes."

"Good," Tori said firmly. "I don't want to wait. The sooner, the better."

 **XXX**

"Do you, Victoria Anne, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in good times and poor, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, until death do you part?"

"I do."

Tori's voice was steady on the clear air. Shafts of sunlight slanted through the windows of the chapel, brushing the white plaster walls with gold. She and John were both in their dress uniforms. Her fingers were clenched on a small nosegay of late autumn asters and black-eyed susans tied with a lace handkerchief.

At her elbow, Sarah Cameron stood in her Army dress khakis, holding a bouquet that mirrored Tori's. Next to John, Jim Gutterman looked as serious as if it were his own wedding. Sarah and Jim were lingering at White Oak, recently engaged themselves. They'd been delighted when Tori and John asked them to be their witnesses.

Less than a week ago, the chapel was full to over-flowering as Greg and Kate pledged their love before their extended family that was the Black Sheep. Although much less boisterous, Tori loved the beautiful simplicity of today's ceremony. No engraved invitations, elaborate decorations, hired musicians, designer gowns or lengthy guest list. No photographer with his incessant flash bulbs, no crashing chords from the pipe organ in an echoing cathedral or ushers seating endless guests in formalwear.

Just the man she loved and the minister's quiet words, intoning faith, hope and love in this little country church. Outside, the breeze tossed a handful of dry leaves against the window.

"Do you, John David, take this woman . . ."

She held his eyes as he spoke the oath, feeling the sincerity of his words wrap around her like a cloak. The vows only affirmed what they already knew – for better for worse, in sickness and in health. In the joyous abandon of one another's bodies, in the terror of blood and trauma.

"I do."

John winked at her and both of their hands were steady as he slid his grandmothers' antique diamond and sapphire ring onto her finger. Unlike Greg's whisky flask that night in the hospital on La Cava, it truly _was_ a family heirloom. Maureen Hutchinson had given it to her son only weeks before when he'd gone home and told his parents he was marrying the girl who'd saved his life and made it worth living.

"I pronounce you husband and wife." The minister beamed. He'd officiated at two weddings in one week and both couples were as obviously in love as he'd ever seen. The first marriage had been a raucous celebration of endurance and survival, this union lower key but no less intense. "You may kiss the – " he began but he was too late.

 **XXX**

They lay in a tangle of heat and limbs and blankets. John lowered his mouth to kiss between her breasts then collapsed next to her. Tremors from their lovemaking still echoed through her, the feel of his body on hers resonating in her heart.

"I love you, Tor, but you might be the end of me."

"Not a chance." She grinned, twisting her fingers in his hair. "We haven't even been married a week."

Their honeymoon was nearing an end. After they left the little country chapel amidst a shower of sunshine and leaves, John told her they were going to have a proper wedding night. They'd driven to Lexington where they stayed at the upscale Candlewood Hotel. Tori was pretty sure her mother wouldn't have used the word _proper_ to describe any of it. Not that she had any intention of discussing her wedding night with her mother.

They spent the days afterward exploring the bluegrass country of Kentucky. The weather stayed warm and golden, perfect for long drives and picnics. Tori had talked John into going riding on mounts borrowed from White Oak. The resultant aching muscles – Tori hadn't been in a saddle for more than two years and John had never ridden in his life – provided a good excuse to spend evenings soaking in the bathtub together.

Now, she rolled onto her side and pressed her face against his chest. God, she loved this man. The future stretched ahead of them with the sparkling infinity of the Pacific. She had no idea where it would take them, only that they would go together.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, his hand warm on her bare shoulder.

"I think," she said, "this has been the easy part. At some point I suppose we should tell my parents."

"I think," he said, "the easy part was more fun."

 **XXX**

 **Three days later**

 **November 1945**

 **Detroit, Mich.**

The breeze whipping down the platform was icy as Tori and John stepped off the train. She saw her parents immediately, waving as they stepped away from the depot's sheltering wall. She squeezed John's hand then let go and threw herself into their open arms, falling into a whirlwind of emotion.

She'd seen them for the first time in more than two years only a few weeks earlier, before leaving for Kate and Greg's wedding. While she'd talked about John, she got the distinct feeling the fact that he wasn't there with her made it easier for her parents to pretend he didn't exist. She'd said nothing to give them any ideas, only that he was still serving in the South Pacific and hoped to be back in the States soon.

Now, John dropped their bags as Edward released Tori from an embrace and stepped toward him.

"It's good to see you again, sir." He gripped her father's hand.

"John." Edward acknowledged. "Glad to see you safely home. You're still with the Marines?

"Yes. I have a few months left on this enlistment, then I'll have some decisions to make about what happens next." He caught Tori's eye and she read his thoughts. _We'll have some decisions to make, sweetheart._

Tori knew her father caught the unspoken communication. She saw his eyebrows arch slightly, as if he could tell something had changed. She slid her hand into the crook of John's arm.

"Mother, I'd like you to meet John Hutchinson. John, this is my mother, Portia."

"I'm pleased to finally meet you, ma'am." He extended his hand. Slowly, as if moving in a dream, Portia took it.

"Likewise."

Tori watched her mother studying John with the particular intensity she usually reserved for pedigrees that could improve her kennel bloodlines. John stood unflinching, aware of the inspection and apparently unconcerned by it.

"Tori has told me so much about you." Her mother's voice was perfectly modulated with no hint of emotion.

John met Portia's cool gaze with one of his devil-may-care grins. He chuckled.

"I sure hope she didn't tell you everything."

Portia gave a little jolt, Edward laughed out loud and Tori took a breath and stepped into the pause.

"Mother, Father - John and I were married last week."

Tori thought later if someone had dropped a farrier's anvil on the steel plating of a carrier deck, it could not have resonated more than the sound of her mother's jaw hitting the floor. Oddly enough, her father didn't seem surprised. A quiet smile crossed his face as he watched his wife's reaction.

"You . . . got married?" Portia's voice was faint, as if she didn't say it too loudly perhaps it wouldn't be true.

"Yes. John asked me to marry him before we left La Cava. We agreed to wait until the war was over."

"But darling, you can't just run out and get married. It takes time to plan a wedding," Portia sputtered. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You aren't – "

"No, Mother, I'm not pregnant," Tori said bluntly. _Yet_ , she thought. She and John agreed they wanted children. By mutual agreement, they'd dispensed with condoms on their wedding night.

She gripped her mother's hands.

"We didn't want any fuss. We just wanted to start our lives together. We've got a few more weeks of leave until I have to go back to the base at San Diego and he leaves for his new posting in Alaska. I'll be able to join him after I resign my commission. He'll serve the rest of his enlistment and then, well, we aren't sure what we'll do. But right now we just want to spend some time with you."

"You were married in a church? With a minister?" Portia seemed to harbor a small hope the marriage wasn't official.

"Yes, Mother," Tori said patiently. "And witnesses. It's all perfectly legal." She knew her mother would exhaust every possibility before embracing the inevitable truth that her daughter had married a boy she'd never met, without her blessing.

"But . . .," Portia still wasn't ready to let it go. Her voice dropped, "But, Victoria, you don't even know his family. I mean . . ."

"I'll get to know them soon enough." Tori's voice was firm, her stance resolute.

The look in her eye was the one she'd used to take the upper hand on soldiers, sailors and Marines since 1943 and, she discovered with a thrill of satisfaction, she had no problem using it on her mother. Around them, travelers drifted by, unaware of the emotions swirling amidst the small group.

Finally, Portia wrapped her arms around Tori and kissed her cheek.

"Congratulations, darling." Her gaze fell on her daughter's left hand. Tori peeled off the kid leather glove and her mother gripped her fingers. Sunlight flashed off the round diamond flanked by smaller diamonds and sapphires channel-set in a delicate gold band. She squeezed Tori's fingers, her own hand warm in the chill of the autumn afternoon.

"That's a beautiful ring," she said quietly, looking at John.

"Thank you, ma'am. It belonged to my grandmother. She wanted me to have it for my wife."

"Well then." Portia seemed to have reached a conclusion. "I can think of nothing better than having the two of you stay with us as long as you can. We'll have Olivia and Patrick come down from Lansing with the girls. I'll phone them as soon as we get home. The Deep River hunt is Saturday morning, then the hunt ball at Linden Hall that evening. We were planning to have the Edgertons and Halstons to dinner on Sunday -

Tori put her hand on her mother's arm as if to stem the flow of words.

"John and I just want to spend time with you before we have to leave again," she said quietly. "No hunt balls, no dinner parties, just family. Please."

Tori watched a thousand emotions cross her mother's face like shadows chased by the sun. The realization that she was no longer in charge of her daughter's life, hadn't been for quite some time, settled over her.

"It's too cold to stand around here," she said finally. Turning to Edward, she added, "Bring the car up, dear, and let's go home." She smiled at Tori, then at John. Tori saw in her mother's eyes resignation and admiration as she struggled to come to grips with this new reality. "I would truly love to hear how you and Victoria met."

"She didn't have much use for me at first, ma'am. It's kind of a long story."

"You've got all evening to tell me," she said firmly. "Don't leave anything out. And please, stop calling me ma'am. You may call me Portia."

Hutch grinned.

"Yes, ma'am."

Good luck with that," Tori muttered.

"Welcome to the family, son." Edward clapped him on the back.

 **XXX**

 **One week later**

Maureen Hutchinson watched as her son opened the passenger door and handed the girl gracefully onto the sidewalk in front of the house. Even from this distance, Maureen could see she was every bit as pretty as John told them she was.

Ever since he'd left for boot camp – four years and a war ago – she'd tried to imagine the girl he'd bring home to meet them some day. That he would never marry, or that he would never come home from the war, were thoughts she hadn't allowed to cross her mind.

Unlike some of the other mothers in the neighborhood who were parading every available girl within 50 miles past their sons when they came home, Maureen had no intention of inflicting her opinion on John. He was a grown man. He'd kept himself alive through a damned war halfway around the world. She'd trust his judgment on choosing a life partner.

She had only one criteria for the perfect wife for him. She had to be his soulmate, not just pretty to look at. There wasn't anything wrong with being pretty, but a dazzling smile and a curvy figure weren't much good when the roof leaked and the baby was crying.

John had come home to visit them three weeks earlier, by himself, and told them he'd asked this girl to marry him. This girl he'd met in the South Pacific. This girl who'd saved his life. Maureen had known from the tone of his voice and the look in his eye he'd found his soulmate.

She wasn't sure how it had happened, a working class boy like John who was nothing if not practical and sensible and never given to flights of fancy, falling for a girl who'd been raised in the lap of luxury.

But love didn't have to make sense. The Bishops of Grosse Pointe weren't like the families in the Hutchinsons' neighborhood but Maureen reckoned they put their pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else. She also knew her son would never fall for a girl who was nothing more than high society glitter. If this was the girl he'd given his heart to, then that was good enough for her.

After supper on that first evening when John came home to see them, after the pie and coffee, she'd excused herself to the bedroom she'd shared with her husband of 27 years. Opening the top drawer on the high boy, she pulled out the small worn velvet box that had been nestled there since her mother died 12 years ago.

"Reenie, give this to John when he's ready to marry," Adelaide Killian had told her daughter. "Your father gave it to me when I was 18 and we were married near 60 years. There's a lot of strength in it."

Maureen opened it and ran her index finger over the stones. She snapped the box closed decisively and went back downstairs. She knew there probably wouldn't be a big church wedding. John wasn't that type and in spite of her upbringing, she got the feeling this girl wasn't either. By the time she met the girl, she would be John's wife.

Now, watching the young couple come up the walk, Maureen was prepared to like Victoria Bishop for no other reason than her son had chosen her. The black and white photos he had shown them didn't do her justice. The raw November wind burnished the girl's cheeks to a rosy glow and a stray shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds to burnish her hair with gold.

She was pretty, all right, but the thing that struck Maureen the most was the way she carried herself, her arm through John's, sharing his strength but not relying on it. They looked at each other, smiling as only couples who have been through good times and bad can. The look that passed between them magnified what they shared, the sum of the parts exceeding the whole. She thought John had never looked happier.

Maureen took Frank's hand and together they walked down the front steps to meet their new daughter-in-law.

"Tori, these are my parents, Maureen and Frank. Mom, Dad, this is Victoria." He paused and when he spoke again, there was quiet pride in his voice. "My wife."

Tori reached out and took Maureen's hand in both of hers.

"I'm so happy to finally meet you," she said.

"We're happy to meet you, too," Maureen returned. The girl had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, with the depth of strength and the quiet confidence that Maureen supposed she had earned during the war.

Frank stepped forward, enveloping her hand in both of his.

"What's a pretty little thing like you want with my renegade grease monkey of a son?" His gruff tone was teasing.

"He's got some redeeming traits," Tori said. "And I see where he gets his good looks."

Maureen put a hand on Tori's arm and shook her head.

"Don't encourage him, dear, or we'll have to listen to all the stories about the girls who chased him when he was young."

"I bet he saw you and quit running," Tori said.

Maureen was again struck by the humor curving the girl's mouth and the teasing warmth of her words. Yes, she and John had been made for each other.

"Come inside, you two. I've got an apple crisp coming out of the oven and I want to hear _your_ version of how you met. I'm not sure I believe a word John's told us. Did you really meet him because of a football game and a dog that ate an entire chocolate cake?"

 **XXX**

 **15 years later - Summer 1960**

 **East Liberty, Upper Peninsula, Michigan**

A breeze lifted the curtains at the window of the old Victorian house as Tori Hutchinson folded the last shirt and placed it carefully in the suitcase. She wrestled the latches shut and lugged it to the hallway, where she set it next to two similar cases waiting at the top of the stairs. John could take them down to the car in the morning.

She ran through the checklist in her mind, sure she was forgetting something. Between two adults, three kids and a dog – no, wait, the dog was staying home - she _knew_ she was forgetting something. She gave up. There would be plenty of stores between here and Lake Tahoe and they could just buy whatever they'd forgotten to pack.

She made a mental note to remember the garment bag hanging on the bedroom door. John had been adamant about taking their uniforms. Fifteen years later, they still fit. When John said that was no big deal, she'd poked him in the chest and reminded him _he_ wasn't the one who'd had three babies. He'd slapped her bottom and declared she was as slender as the day they met. She caught a sideways glance at herself in the dresser mirror. Maybe she _was_ still as slender but she'd let out the side seams of the skirt a little anyway. After three kids, she didn't have a 22-year-old's hips anymore and didn't want the skirt splitting at a somber moment.

The uniforms had been aired and pressed to eliminate even the suggestion of a wrinkle. She and John agreed they would wear them during the memorial service, to show respect and make history more than a dusty lesson in a text book for the kids.

"They need to understand," he said. "They're old enough now."

The trip was a wonderful tangle of a family vacation and a Black Sheep reunion at Greg and Kate's place, Boyington Charter Air Service, at Lake Tahoe. All of the squadron members who were still living would be there. The Boyingtons had started organizing the event right after the first of the year to ensure everyone had ample time to make travel arrangements. The celebration was expected to continue for the better part of a week, with horseback riding, swimming, hiking, cookouts and bonfires. Although there'd been talk of pitching tents for old times' sake, Kate had reserved a block of rooms at a nearby resort for the guests.

It would be the first time they'd all been together since the war ended. Along with Greg and Kate, she and John, Dee and Casey and Sarah and Jim had all been married in 1945. They, with all their families, would be there for a joyous reunion, along with Bobby and Ellen Anderson, Bobby Boyle and his wife – who John said undoubtedly married Boyle on a bet - and TJ Wiley, who'd married Don French's little sister Helen after they met at Greg and Kate's wedding. Don was coming, too, and Jerry Bragg and a dozen others. Kate said even Andy Micklin was coming, bringing – to everyone's surprise – a Mrs. Micklin.

Tori had no doubt it would be a rollicking party of high jinx and reminiscing but a brief memorial ceremony was planned for the squadron members who hadn't made it back from the South Pacific, especially those lost on that fateful day in January of 1944. There hadn't been time, amidst the chaos of war, to properly remember them and acknowledge what they'd given. It felt right to be able to do it now and to show their families what those men had sacrificed in the name of freedom.

Tori crossed the polished oak floor and looked out the bedroom window. Out by the barn, John leaned against the fender of his battered GMC pickup, talking to Jack Walker, their neighbor from down the road. Jack was going to feed the chickens and cats and horses, bring in the mail and keep an eye on the place while they were gone.

On the lawn next to the house, the kids were washing the family's 1957 Chevy Bel Air in preparation for the trip. Wait, she amended. Two of them were - Andrew John, 14, all arms and legs and quick, dry humor, and Katie Dee, 13, blossoming into womanhood whether she wanted to or not, were hard at work, suds and water flying. Target, the family's sable and white sheltie, was running in circles, barking and generally getting in the way.

Edward David, 10, was nowhere to be seen. Tori had no doubt the boy was probably off doing something she didn't want to know about.

"We should have named that one Greg," she'd told John more than once.

Tori slowly descended the staircase, her fingers tracing the smooth wood of the banister. A rainbow of colors flashed across her skin as she passed the stained-glass window on the landing, then turned down the final steps to the front foyer. She loved the old house. It had belonged to John's grandparents and when they passed, she and John bought it and moved the family from Flint to East Liberty the same year Eddie was born. Moving into a new house with a new baby and two kids under the age of 5, dear Lord, she'd nearly lost her religion but they got through it.

They were four miles out of town, along a dusty country road that wound through bucolic fields and timber. Their business, J&T Hutchinson, Repair and Metal Fabrication, was located on the corner of Main and Elm in town. Tori had designed and painted the sign, simple black on white lettering with red trim, that hung on the building's brick façade. The original building had been the village black smith until a previous owner converted it into an auto repair shop. John had taken it one step further, installing updated hoists to service autos and farm vehicles alike and adding new welding and machining equipment for repairing and fabricating ag implements. The skills he'd honed repairing warbirds in the South Pacific launched the small business to nearly instant success. Just last year, he'd hired another full-time mechanic, a veteran of the Korean war who shared his ability to make something out of nothing.

Tori lingered, looking at the series of framed photos hanging along the stairwell Three generations of family and friends looked back at her. There were John's folks, alive and well and living in Flint. The kids called them Gran and Papa. The next photo was of her parents – Grandmother and Grandfather Bishop - seemingly ageless, in the garden at Summerview.

The kids' current school pictures followed. Andy, his features a startling echo of his father's but with Tori's red-gold hair and blue eyes. Katie Dee, her fine bone structure a carbon copy of Tori at age 13, only with a mane of dark hair and brown eyes. And Eddie, truly the black sheep of the family, with red hair and gray eyes. John teased they'd brought the wrong baby home from the hospital when he was born. After thoughtful consideration, Eddie crossed his arms and announced with all the confidence his then-7-year-old self could muster, "Nope. I know I'm yours cuz Mama says I act just like you."

Maybe it was the prevailing mood of nostalgia that had overcome her as the family got ready for the trip but the next photo made her break into an unrepentant grin as she touched the frame. It was one Kate had taken on La Cava during the war. Tori was sitting on the wing of a plane with John standing next to her, his hand on her bare thigh. The housekeeper at Summerview had told her years ago the photo nearly threw her mother into an apoplectic fit when she first saw it. When Tori asked how her father had reacted, Abigail said, "He just nodded, Miss Victoria, and said, 'Portia, don't get your panties in a twist. That boy's worth his weight in gold to that unit and more importantly, he makes Victoria happy.'"

Her eyes misted slightly. Feelings of blessings, love and good fortune washed over her. They'd been so lucky – John, Greg and all the Black Sheep and the girls who loved them and fought alongside them in the South Pacific.

She'd heard the men and women who served their country during World War II referred to as the "Greatest Generation" by a media personality who'd recently published a book on the topic. She'd bought a copy for no other reason than it contained some of Kate's photography. The author's words still rang in her mind, "They weren't made out of different stuff than we are but they were faced with greater hardships and challenges and successfully rose to the occasion."

Tori didn't think they were anything special, just Americans doing what needed doing. At the time, none of them had looked any further than the next sunrise. She and John had expected nothing, but as they grew as friends, then lovers, then husband and wife, they'd been blessed with everything.

They'd come home to families who loved them. Initially, John returned to the GM plant in Flint, helping convert the lines from military production back to civilian automobiles. They'd nearly starved to death that first year, not because they didn't have any money but because neither of them knew how to cook. Maureen had intervened, diplomatically inviting Tori to help her fix Sunday dinners for the assembled family. Things got better after that.

She'd gotten pregnant with Andy almost immediately after their wedding and worked in a local doctor's office until the baby came, kicking and screaming. Katie Dee arrived the next year and Eddie three years later. She and John had taken the plunge almost 10 years and moved their family to East Liberty where they opened their business.

Tori had begun drawing seriously while the kids were little. Her work wasn't more than idle sketches at first, memories of the men and women she'd served with. John built a drawing table for her and it was constantly covered with works in progress. When a visiting neighbor, a local businessman, saw a partially-completed sketch of a mechanic helping a pilot into his flight harness before a mission he'd encouraged her to finish it, then helped her arrange a showing at a local gallery.

Her work was an immediate hit. Returning veterans and their families bought her original prints and commissioned works, handing her photographs taken on bases and battlefields across the South Pacific

Her innate sense of the human body gave her drawings a vitality unmatched by other artists. Men's and women's faces, the body language and the detailed settings in which Tori placed them spoke of the love, fear, triumph and loss of the war.

" _When viewing one of Victoria Hutchinson's drawings, one almost expects to feel the subject reach out of the frame and hand you a Scotch or punch you in the face,"_ one art critic wrote in the _Detroit_ _Free Press_ after one of her early prints was unveiled. Titled "A Matter of Honor," she'd based it on one of the Sheep's Pen dust-ups. It showed an enthusiastic brawl between a Marine Corps pilot and a Navy ensign, while wide-eyed nurses watched from the sidelines and placed bets. It had become her signature piece and after that, her career blossomed with nostalgia art from the war. From patriotic scenes to slightly risqué pieces featuring pin ups and planes, her work sold like hotcakes.

She owed it all to the Black Sheep. Because of their match-making, she and John had found one another. The squadron's teasing, their off-color jokes, camaraderie and genuine appreciation of the female form sparkled as clearly in her memory now as they had that first day on the island in 1943.

The men of the 214 had inspired something inside her and given her a thousand memories to draw from. Now those memories flowed from her mind through her fingertips onto the canvas in her studio.

It would be wonderful to see them all again. Kate wrote and told her Greg had accidentally on purpose managed to divert one of the Corsairs that had seen duty in the South Pacific as a last act of defiance before retiring from the Marine Corps. The thing was parked in a back hanger at Boyington Air and Greg couldn't wait to consult with John about it. Tori wondered if the U.S. government had any idea. Of all the things the squadron had stolen, connived, finagled and weaseled away from their rightful owners during the war years, stealing a plane was the icing on the cake. She had no idea what Greg planned to do with it and from the sound of Kate's letters, neither did Greg.

Tori lingered on the series of framed photos adorning the wall – more of Kate's work – her and John on the flight line, at the hospital, the beach, in the Sheep Pen. And finally, a picture of everyone at Kate and Greg's wedding. That one held special meaning since it was the outpouring of love on that day that had made her and John realize they, too, should take the final step to make it official.

Tori wiped at eyes gone misty. She made her way down the rest of the stairs, across the foyer and onto the front porch. The sun was starting to set but the evening air still held the day's warmth. Jack got back in his pickup and with a wave, headed down the lane.

Andy aimed a spray of water at his unsuspecting sister and caught her on one hip. Katie Dee shrieked and lobbed the sponge she'd been using on the car at him. It hit dead center on his forehead and fell with a wet squelch to the grass. Andy dropped the hose and lunged, only to be stopped when Target dove at his ankles. Eddie appeared around the corner of the house, picked up the fallen hose and turned it on both his brother and sister. Katie Dee picked up the wash bucket and emptied it over him. The kids' shouts echoed off the barn as a full-scale water fight broke out.

Tori leaned against a porch column. Fireflies blinked in the dusk, their tiny flashers wreathing the lawn with a net of fairy lights. John edged the water fight to walk up the steps. He was limping slightly, she noticed. He'd been working overtime at the shop, getting caught up with customers so they could take this trip. She'd have to do a little deep tissue massage and stretching on his leg before they went to sleep that night. She didn't think he'd argue.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and they stood without speaking, watching the kids and madly barking dog.

"John Hutchinson, you must be Section 8 to think we can put all of them in the same car for a thousand miles."

"We're not taking the crazy dog with us, are we?"

Target yanked the hose away from Eddie and went capering around the yard, water arcing in his wake.

"No. Jack's granddaughters are coming to get him in the morning and take him to their house. Can you imagine that dog in a car for that long? That would be insane."

"Says the woman who borrowed Gutterman's Colt and took potshots at the Army?"

"Those were not potshots. I hit exactly what I was aiming at. Except for the first couple." Tori grinned at the memory and leaned against his shoulder. "I'm sure _that_ story is going to get retold at the reunion."

"You can count on it. How about the time Greg and I hauled Micklin to the hospital? You know the only reason I made him go was because I knew you'd be on duty."

"And I thought you were concerned about his welfare."

"Nah. His hand would have healed eventually out of sheer cussedness."

Tori watched as Katie Dee rescued the hose from Target, then deliberately stepped on it. When the water quit running out, both boys picked up the end to examine it. She stepped off and water surged out, blasting them in the face. More yelling ensued.

"I don't mind if you tell that story in front of the kids, just watch what else you boys say when they're around. No way am I explaining to that lot –" she gestured to the combatants who were now soaked from head to toe, "- that Kate was pregnant when Greg got shot down or that Casey and Dee's oldest boy was born six and a half months after their wedding and was absolutely full-term. Those kids still think the beach is somewhere you go to play in the water."

"I remember playing in the water with you." John wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close. "Remember your 23rd birthday? Oh God, then having to face your old man when he showed up out of the blue the next morning. You know, I never told anyone about that night. That'll make a great campfire story."

"You're not going to tell anyone about it now, either," she said with a warning tone. Even after all this time, she still flushed with heat at the memory.

"How do you plan to stop me?" he teased.

"Don't make me pull rank on you, sergeant."

John took her shoulders and kissed her, his mouth a promise of the passion they still shared. In the yard, the kids shrieked, the dog barked and the lightning bugs flashed.

"I'd like to see you try," he whispered against her lips. "Ma'am."

 **THE END**

 _This is my eighth Black Sheep story. Thank you for traveling back in time with me to an island in the Southwest Pacific. If you enjoyed the trip, I invite you to read "Front Page News: Second Edition," which is Greg Boyington and Kate Cameron's story; "Scotch and Fire," Jim Gutterman and Sarah Cameron's story, and "Silk Stockings," Larry Casey and Dee Ryan's story. Thanks again for reading. Until next time, clear skies and good hunting. - MW_


End file.
